


Seeing Pink

by penrosewriter



Series: The Adventures of Janelock Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Beginnings of a friendship, Developing Relationship, Drama, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Feels, Femlock, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, I promise, Jane Watson - Freeform, Minor Violence, Murder Mystery, Plot changes, Relationship(s), Secrets, Series, fem! John, girl!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penrosewriter/pseuds/penrosewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Jane Watson has recently returned from Afghanistan. Tired, frustrated, and not sure what to do, she stumbles upon an unlikely acquaintance, an unlikely adventure, and an unlikely life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thank you for stumbling across this story! I hope you all like reading it as much as I liked writing this! Jane is a relatively new character for me, so I hope her character really improves throughout their story.

Prologue  
“So…it was Andrei all this time...interesting." Sherlock mused, a smirk on his face. Currently, he was being pinned by a Russian criminal with odious breath, and a twenty foot drop a push away.  
"Shut up!" His opponent Yakov snarled, whipping out a pocket knife.  
"Does it bother you that your sister married your brother?" Sherlock sneered.  
"бля ублюдок" Yakov screamed, spitting tobacco at Sherlock's face.  
At this, Sherlock rolled his eyes. Would he ever meet someone who could actually throw an insult at him that was somewhat intelligent? Then again, he was a drug dealer, it was expected. He was an idiot after all.  
Locating the pressure point in his collarbone, he narrowed his eyes. If he did not force the bone in 1/4 of a second, his plan would be ruined and he would have to move on to a more extensive means of force.  
Striking his hand forward, he used two fingers and jolted the collarbone out of place while squeezing Yakov's arm to render it unusable for the time being, causing him to release the pocket knife, while tripping the man's foot, making him call forward and hit his head with an unpleasant thud.  
Yakov Russian drug dealer, third floor of hotel, Middleton Rd.-SH  
After sending the message to Lestrade, Sherlock sighed before tucking it into his coat pocket, and handcuffed Yakov to the railing.  
"You will pay. I find someone you love, and I kill." Yakov threatened angrily, trembling with rage.  
"Then you will be grievously disappointed. I have no one." Sherlock said, before giving one last smirk and striding out.  
What a painfully dull case. A painfully dull life.  
Would he consider his life boring? To a standard human, no. But it was always the same! He would be given a case, he would (sometimes) accept, and solve it. Nothing ever surprised him, nothing ever would. Nothing ever changed.  
***

"Mycroft. It is prudent to knock. At eleven at night I may add." Sherlock said dryly, taking a sip of scotch.  
"I had a feeling you would be awake, drinking no doubt. A little exchange from your other substance." Sherlock shot his brother a dark glare.  
"Shut up, Mycroft." He rumbled dangerously, taking a long drink for emphasis.  
"Have you been listening to your landlady? You must find a flat mate before the month is up.”  
“Yes, Yes, I know. Did you come all the way to tell me that?” He growled, swishing the glass of scotch in his hand  
"Yes actually. I found an advertisement in the papers for flat shares." Mycroft said, plopping down a newspaper.  
"Is that all?" Sherlock asked, the little equanimity he had fading fast.  
"Quite." The moment the door closed shut, Sherlock glared at the paper before crumpling it up and throwing it to the ground in frustration and irritation.  
He didn’t need anyone, frankly, he didn’t want anyone. He had already been through five flat mates in the past three months. Why was everyone so adamant on it? With a sigh, he picked up the paper and scanned it over.  
Sherlock quickly scanned over first name and picture, mumbling rapidly to himself as he read, “Was kicked out of girlfriend's apartment, most likely from cheating, works in the office, dull, and most likely another moron I’d have to put up with. Boring. No.”  
After reading them all, he felt disappointed. All of them were so incredibly boring.

 

  
Chapter One: New Starts  
_Blood. The smell of smoke, blood and gun powder filled her nostrils. A soldier was yelling at her to do something...but what was it? Grass, gunshots, guns, screams...not just screams...they were Johanna's-_  
"Gah!" Jane sat straight up in bed, looking wildly around before realizing she was in her hotel room in London.  
Laying back in bed, Jane took slow breaths just like her therapist had instructed her to do earlier last week. She had been staying in London for almost a month now, and her pensions were starting to run a bit low. It was more difficult to find a job than she had earlier presumed. Who would want an injured doctor with a stress disorder who just got out of the RAMC?  
Sitting up on the bed when it was clear sleep would never come, Jane stared at that hateful walking stick before at last hobbling over to it.  
Sitting at her desk, she opened her drawer and took out the laptop and shoved the gun further into the drawer. She opened her laptop and stared at the blank document, fingers suspended over the keys, but nothing came. Clenching her fists, she shut the laptop and looked out the window. It was no good. None of it was.  
***  
“How’s your blog going?” She heard her therapist ask, pulling her out of her thoughts.  
“Uh-yeah, good…” Jane said, sheepishly trying not to look at her therapist in the eye.  
“You haven’t written a word haven’t you?”  
“You just….just wrote ‘Still has trust issues’” Jane nodded her head at Dr. Ella’s notepad.  
“And you read my writing upside down…do you know what I mean?” Dr. Ella retorted, a cool smile on her face.  
Twitching her mouth, Jane resorted to looking out the window. At her family’s beckoning, she made the mistake of getting a therapist. In honesty, she had never been the type to recline on a red sofa and drabble about her life, to a therapist of all things.  
“Jane, you’re a soldier, and it will take you some time for you to adjust to civilian life…writing a blog will help you.”  
“And what, can I ask, could I write about? How Mum and I aren’t getting on, how she has about had it with me? How Harry is getting a divorce? How my nightmares aren’t stopping…?”  
“Nightmares? Are you still having those?”  
“Look, never mind,” Jane faked checking her watch, before standing up, “I actually need to get going.” She limped to the door.  
“Jane, remember, writing about your life will help.” Dr. Ella called after her.  
Shaking her head, Jane managed a tight smile, “Nothing ever happens.”  
_Except for my daily stroll to the grocers for some food I don’t really eat anyway. Write about all the times you’ve deleted your family’s voice mail without calling back, write about your walk in the park. Write about the squirrel running down the street. Oh yeah, everyone would love to read that_. She silently added.  
***  
After the failed appointment with Dr. Ella, Jane found herself in a park.  
Walking, Jane preoccupied her mind with plans for the rest of the day, when she heard a voice call out:  
“Jane? Jane Watson?” Hearing someone call her, she turned around to find a rather large man calling and waving.  
Furrowing her brow, Jane tried to recall where she had seen this man before when he said, “Mike Stamford, we were at Bart’s together.”  
Recognition flickered in her eyes and she smiled as she shook his hand. “Oh, Hi, how are you? I um, didn’t recognize you…”  
_Because you got fat. Really fat. Seriously, what happened to the muscles?_  
“Yeah, I know, got fat.” Mike chuckled.  
“Oh-oh no…that’s not…” Jane stammered, flushing guiltily.  
Waving his hand good naturedly at the comment Mike asked more questions, “I heard you were abroad and got shot. What happened?”  
What did he think happened? Jane thought dryly.  
“I got shot.” Jane responded, flatly.  
“Oh…well, shall I get some coffee?” Mike offered, trying not to comment on that.  
After finding an old bench, Mike looked at Jane with concern.  
“Are you still at Bart’s?” Jane asked, choosing to ignore the pity.  
“Yeah, finally got the teaching post. Bright things like we used to be, I hate ‘em.”  
At this, they both laughed, Jane feeling somewhat surprised and happy about how long she’d felt comfortable talking to someone.  
“What about you Jane? Staying in town till you get yourself sorted?”  
“I can’t afford London on an army pension. I may have to go back to live with Mum.” Jane smiled sadly, thinking of that insufferably small, quiet town.  
“And you can’t bear to be anywhere else, much less Truro. Not the Jane Watson I know.”  
“Yeah, well, I’m not the Jane Watson you knew, I’ve changed-” Jane snapped, before stopping herself.  
As Mike looked awkwardly away, Jane slowly exhaled and clenched one of her shaking hands. Why wouldn’t the tremors ever stop for once?  
“Couldn’t Harry help?”  
Jane snorted at this comment. “Are we talking about the same Harry Watson?”  
“I dunno, a flat share?”  
“Oh c’mon Mike, who’d want me as a flat mate?” Jane said, half joking.  
“What?” She asked when Mike started laughing at her.  
“Funny you should say that cause you’re the second person who’s asked me that today.”  
“Really....who was the first?” Jane asked, curiosity raising.  
***  
“So, what’s she like?” Jane asked, pushing open the door.  
“Oh, great person, bit difficult at first, but you get used to it, not to worry.”  
“Great. Well, I’d love to meet her.”  
“Of course. Let’s stop in here for a minute, yeah?”  
"Well...bit different from when I was here." Jane commented, walking into the room, taking in all the microscopes, lighting, and shelves full of chemicals. In the midst of that, she saw a man with dark curly hair hunched over a microscope. Either he was deaf, or making a point to ignore them.  
"Oh you have no idea." Mike chuckled.  
“Mike can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." The man asked, ignoring Jane deliberately, before returning back to the microscope.  
At this, Jane felt a little annoyed. Whoever this man was, he ought to at least say hello right?  
"And what's wrong with the land line?" Mike asked in a slightly annoyed tone.  
"I prefer to text." He answered shortly.  
"Sorry, it's in my coat." Mike answered, apologetically.  
"Uh-here, use mine." Jane said, fishing her phone out of her pocket.  
"Oh…thank you." He said, slightly surprised.  
"This is an old friend of mine, Jane Watson.” Mike stated.  
Looking Jane over, he took the phone, as Jane stared at him incredulously.  
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" He asked, flipping open the phone.  
"Sorry?" Jane frowned at the sudden question.  
"Which one, Afghanistan or Iraq?" He asked impatiently.  
"Afghanistan. How do you know that..?" Jane asked suspiciously, just as a young woman came in carrying a mug.  
"Ah Molly, coffee, thank you-what happened to the lipstick?" Sherlock asked, pointing to her lips as he took the mug.  
"It wasn't working for me." She said, sheepishly.  
“Really? I thought it was a big improvement! Your mouth is….too small now.” Sherlock noted.  
"Okay."  
Feeling a pang of sympathy for Molly, Jane looked at Sherlock out of the corner of her eye.  
"How do you feel about the violin?" He asked, after a sip of coffee.  
“…Um…I like it, I guess? Why are you asking?” She raised her eyebrows, after looking at Mike for an explanation, who just shook his head.  
“I play the violin when I am thinking. Also, sometimes I don’t talk for days. Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other...” The man finished, giving her an obviously fake smile. Jane’s eyes widened in shock; she looked at Mike, “Did you…?”  
“Not a word." Mike smirked.  
"Then who said anything about flat mates?" Jane questioned, getting a little irritated.  
"I did! Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for, and now here he is, just back from lunch with an old friend just home from military service from Afghanistan, wasn't a difficult leap." The man explained.  
"But-Mike! He's a man!" Jane sputtered. Mike conveniently forgot to add that tiny detail.  
"An issue?" He asked, innocently.  
Oh you prat, you know exactly how that could be an issue. Jane thought menacingly.  
"Take a minute. Take all the time you need. You’re a guy, I’m a girl, see where I’m coming from?”  
"Jane, not that sort of man. Ain't looked at anyone with any sort of romantic interest before!” Mike stated. Hearing this, Jane relaxed slightly.  
"How did you know about Afghanistan?" Jane asked after a beat of silence.  
"Found a nice little place in Central London, together I think we'll be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening seven o'clock. Sorry, got to dash, left my riding crop in the mortuary." He explained, quickly striding to the door.  
"Hey! So this just it?" Jane asked just before he left. She really didn’t like all of his dodgy answers.  
"Is that what?" Sherlock asked, slowly turning to face her.  
"We only just met, and now we're moving into a flat." Jane explained, trying to read his expression.  
"...Problem?" Sherlock asked, a challenging edge to his voice, telling her that she should drop with this conversation.  
Feeling challenged, Jane looked back at him, returning the competitive stare.  
"…We don't know a thing about each other, I don't know where we are meeting, and I don't even know your name." Jane clarified.  
Looking at her straight in the eyes, Sherlock began rapidly speaking. “I know that you were a prisoner of war, and injured in Afghanistan, I know that you have a family who is worried about you, but you won’t go to them. Your brother is also worried, but you don’t speak to him, maybe due to his alcoholism, more likely because he is getting a divorce with his wife, and I know that your’ therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic." Opening her mouth slightly, Jane stared wide eyed at Sherlock. How could he have known all that?  
"Soo… that's enough to be going on don't you think?" Sherlock snidely remarked after a short lapse of time.  
"I never said I'd move in with you!" Jane tried to argue.  
"Keep in mind that due to your army pension, I'm most likely the first and last person that will ask you. If you say no, you will most likely be stuck to your current living station forever." Watching Jane shift her foot, he smirked. He had her. He had her and they both knew it.  
"The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon!" Sherlock said, and actually winked at her before taking his exit, leaving the dumbfounded woman and a slightly amused man behind.  
“…Yeah, he’s always like that…” Mike said, looking as if he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing.  
“You said that Sherlock was a girl!”  
“And would you have even bothered to meet him if I told you that?” Glaring at him, Jane straightened up and headed towards the door.  
“I better get going, good seeing you Mike.” Jane nodded at him and walked out.  
Pulling out her phone once she was in her room, she checked the texts that were sent.  
Sent 1:14 PM: If brother has green ladder, arrest brother. -SH  
What was that supposed to mean? Some sort of code, or was he serious? After staring at the text completely baffled, Jane went to her desk and pulled out her laptop.  
“Sherlock Holmes huh?”


	2. 221B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was not how Jane imagined this visitation to the flat would go.

After spending the whole day pacing, pondering, and wondering, Jane made her resolve. Perhaps it would not hurt to go see the flat. Who knew, perhaps she might actually like it.

“Now or never…” Jane murmured as the apartment came into view. The building was in central London. At this, Jane could not help but feel disappointed, if not discouraged. Just how much money did Sherlock think she had? She could barely afford the hotel, but central London? It was so far beyond her income it was boggling. Just as she finally arrived at the apartment, a black cab pulled up.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes.” Jane greeted him politely. “No, Sherlock, please.” He said, shaking her hand firmly.

“So…this is a pretty nice spot, it er, must be expensive…” Jane said, trying to find a way to hint on the high price.

“Oh not to worry about the price, it’s quite reasonable. Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, owes me a favour. Her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida, I was able to _help_ out.” 

“You stopped her husband from being executed?”

“Oh no, no. I ensured it.” Sherlock smiled as the landlady opened the door.

“ _Ensured_ it..? You mean -” Jane gawked just as Mrs. Hudson stepped out. 

“Oh Sherlock, good to see you dear.” Mrs. Hudson crooned, giving him a warm hug as Jane openly stared at Sherlock in half horror, curiosity, and a small bit of admiration. 

Stepping back, Sherlock nodded at Jane. 

“Mrs. Hudson, Dr. Jane Watson.”

“How do you do?” Jane greeted, thoughts still lingering on Sherlock’s previous comments.

“Hello dear, shall we go in?” Mrs. Hudson said politely. 

“Yeah, sure!” Jane said, stepping in. 

After ascending the stairs to 221B, Jane’s first thoughts was how queer and unusual the apartment was. Boxes strewn everywhere, the wallpaper a bit kitsch, other than that, it seemed nice. 

“This could be very nice…” Jane hummed, frowning at all the miscellaneous items across the room. 

“Yes, I think so.” Sherlock answered back rather over eagerly.

“Just as soon we get all this rubbish burned…” Jane remarked just as Sherlock said:

“So I decided to go ahead and move in.” After an awkward pause, Jane cleared her throat.

“So, um…this is all…then…?” Jane cleared her throat, face flushed in embarrassment. 

“Well, I can, um, clean up things here and there…” Sherlock scrambled for words as he half-heartedly started shuffling things about. After moving a box of papers, Sherlock found a few papers he seemed to deem necessary and pinned them to a mantle with a knife. 

“You know, tacks can be….helpful.” Jane suggested, frowning at the knife. 

“Tacks are useless.” Sherlock dismissed the idea instantly as he threw a blanket over jars with preserved items. 

Kneeling down by the box, Jane lifted the blanket to find a jar and revolved it in her hand slowly. 

“Those…are preserved…toes. Human toes.” 

“Excellent observation.” 

“That’s...a conversation starter. Were those donated to you?” 

“Yes, from Bart’s.” Sherlock replied absently. 

“Ah.” Looking around for something else to talk about, Jane caught sight of something on the mantle. 

“Is that a skull over there? Is it real?” Jane asked. 

“Yes, a friend of mine. When I say friend…uh…when you said you’d _burn_ the ‘rubbish’…you’re not an arsonist, are you doctor?” 

“What-no! No, no, I swear I’m not! I was merely joking….oh this is awkward.” Jane waved her hands in denial as Mrs. Hudson swooped in yet again to rescue them from a rather awkward moment. 

“…What do you think then Dr. Watson? There’s another bedroom upstairs if you’ll be needing two?” Mrs. Hudson said teasingly.

“Of course we’ll be needing two…” Jane muttered. 

“Oh don’t worry dear, nothing to be ashamed of! Sherlock has his quirks but he’s a good man!” Mrs. Hudson said, rubbing one of Sherlock’s shoulders affectionately. 

“No, really. I just met him yesterday. No.” 

“Well if you change your mind just let me know love.” Before Jane could reply, Mrs. Hudson had made her way to the kitchen. 

“Oh Sherlock, look at the mess you’ve made!” She scolded him lightly, picking up a coffee mug. Walking over to a sitting area, Jane found a crimson armchair that seemed to be years old. Sitting down, she looked around the apartment once more before directing her attention to Sherlock. 

“I looked you up on the internet.”

“And? Anything of interest?” He asked, picking lint off of the mantle.

“…I found your site, ‘The Science of Deduction’.” 

“And what did you think?” Sherlock asked, sporting a very pleased look. Snorting a little, Jane answered: 

“There is no way you can tell someone’s a pilot by their thumb, or a software designer by his tie!” Jane shook her head. 

“Yes I can. And I could tell your military career in your face and leg and the prisoner of war by your right hand, and your brother’s drinking habits on your phone.” 

“Yeah, but… how…?” Jane asked the question that had been eating at her since yesterday, the question that was partially the reason she came here. 

Giving her a mysterious smile, Sherlock picked up a newspaper and walked towards the window, ending the conversation. 

“What about these suicides then Sherlock? Three all the same, thought it’d be right up your alley.” Mrs. Hudson asked, looking over Sherlock’s shoulder at the newspaper. 

“Four...there’s been a fourth.” Sherlock predicted as a police car stopped in front of the apartment. As if on cue, footsteps from downstairs could be heard, and a man entered the room.

“Where, Lestrade?” Sherlock asked calmly. 

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.” The man named Lestrade said, pushing some of his silver hair back with his hand. 

“What’s new about this one?”

“What? How D’you know that?” Lestrade asked in surprise. 

“You wouldn’t have gotten me if this wasn’t different.” 

“Know how they never leave notes? This one did. Will ya come?” 

“Forensics?” Sherlock asked immediately. 

“Well….Anderson.” Jane had the impression Sherlock didn’t fancy him much judging by the twitch of his eye.

“Anderson won’t work with me.”

“Oh c’mon, he’s not gonna be your assistant.”

“But I need an assistant.” Sherlock said stubbornly. 

“Will you come already?”

“Not in a police car, be right behind.” Sherlock replied, looking over at Jane as a new idea dawned on him. Nodding, Lestrade took one look at Mrs. Hudson and Jane before trotting down the stairs. When the door downstairs closed, Sherlock’s barely contained excitement was brought forth.

“BRILLIANT! YES! Ah, four suicides and a note oh it’s Christmas!” he whooped, pumping his fist excitedly. Swirling about as he donned his trench coat and a navy blue scarf, Sherlock started searching for his black gloves. 

“Mrs. Hudson I might be late, I’ll probably need food!” 

“I’m your land lady dear, I am not your housekeeper!” 

“Something cold will do, Jane, go make yourself at home!” he instructed and then ran down the stairs. 

“Oh look at him, dashing about! Oh, my husband was just the same, but you’re more of the sitting down type. I can tell, I’m good at reading people you know…I’ll make you a cup of tea, you rest your leg.” 

Rest your leg. At this, Jane cursed loudly, making Mrs. Hudson turn quickly.

“My dear!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. 

“Oh! I am-oh, I am so sorry, it’s a bit of an instinctual thing it’s this leg….I am so sorry. A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you.” Jane sighed remorsefully. 

“It’s alright dear, I’ve got a hip.” Mrs. Hudson answered forgivingly and went off to the kitchen.

Sighing, Jane picked up the paper Sherlock had dropped and looked it over.

“You’re a doctor.” She heard Sherlock say from the doorway. Folding up the paper, she nodded.

“Yes. I am.” She responded, standing up slowly.

“An Army doctor at that.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Any good then?”

“Very good.”

“How good?” 

“I was able to perform a surgery.”

“And?” Sherlock asked, knowing there was more to the story.

“In the middle of a rather dangerous combat situation.” Jane replied proudly.

“You served in active combat situations then?”

“Yes.” 

“Have seen a lot of violent deaths then, gruesome, barbaric things?” Sherlock asked, a smile playing at the corner of his lip. That was an understatement. 

“Yes.” His smile was a bit unseemly for the conversation they were having.

“And you’ve had quite a bit of trouble to I bet.” He added, a rather excited look on his face.

“Yes…enough, I think, for a lifetime.” 

“Want to see some more then?”  Stopping, Jane looked up at him, eyes wide. He was asking her to…go with him? At first, her immediate thought was ‘No’, but something inside her made her give a different answer. 

“I thought you were never going to ask.” Jane smiled back, an enthralling sense of adrenaline shooting through her. Smirking back, Sherlock started down the stairs, Jane tromping after him.

“Sorry Mrs. Hudson, I’ll be skipping the tea today!” She called over her shoulder.

“You’re going? Both of you? Why, you’ve never taken your other flat mates!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed in surprise. 

“Four impossible suicides? No point in sitting at home when something fun’s going on!” Sherlock crowed. 

“Oh, being so happy about death…really, it’s not decent!” Mrs. Hudson half-heartedly protested. 

“Oh, hang decent! The game Mrs. Hudson, is on!” Sherlock said, kissing her cheek before flinging open the door dramatically and calling for a taxi. Would it be a good idea to do this? What would her Mum say….wait. This was none of her Mum’s business anyway. If Mike was here, he would indefinitely say ‘This isn’t the Jane Watson I know’. Shaking her head, Jane had no other choice but to follow the mad man. 

***

Well he got her into the cab...now what was he supposed to do? His main objective was for her to come along, and he did that. So, what to do next… Feeling at a stand-still, Sherlock whipped out his phone and began leering at it to avoid conversation. However, as they sat in the back of the taxi, Sherlock watched Jane at the corner of his eye who continued to stare despite saying nothing. Eventually getting irritated at her needless silence and the uncomfortable mood, he spoke. 

"Okay, you've got questions." It was rather bothersome to let her just nag her with just her eyes. How did she do that? 

"Where are you taking me?" She asked instantly. 

"Crime scene. Next?" Sherlock shot back, annoyed at the simplicity of her question. 

"Who are you? What do you do?" Better. 

"What do you think?" Might as well have her do some thinking. Thinking causes curiosity to stimulate the brain. 

"I'd… say private detective." 

"But?" Sherlock had her continue. 

"...But the police don't go to private detectives." She finished, looking at him with a small twinge of doubt. 

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." 

Sherlock said proudly. 

"What does that mean?" Jane inquired, her intrigue rising.

"It means when the police are out of their depth which is always, they consult Me." 

"Yes, well, that’s all well and clever, but the police don’t consult _amateurs_." Jane provoked him, giving him a look that said _Go on, prove it_. Alright then, she wanted proof, she’d have it. 

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said ‘Afghanistan or Iraq’ you looked surprised." Sherlock began.

"Yes, how did you know?" 

"I didn't know, I saw. Your hair, kept in military bun, the way you hold yourself says military. Trained at Bart's, so Army doctor-obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad but not sunbathing. Since it takes roughly a few months for a tan to fade depending on genetics and skin cell receptors, you've been home say, one to three months. Am I right?”

“Yeah. But what about the rest of everything? My brother, my limp and all that?”

“Oh I was just getting warmed up.” 

“Oh, by all means then, proceed.”

“Your limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq." Sherlock looked over at Jane who was looking at the floor, quiet.

“How did you know that I was a POW?”

“Simple. On your right hand you have scarring from barbed wire, as if you were trying to pull on it. But you are a doctor, you’d been abroad three years and every soldier knows pulling on barbed wire will only cause damage to the hand. Yet, you still did, why? In captive situations ones usually stable senses waver.”

“I could have been just trying to get someone out of the wire.” 

“Unlikely. Soldiers always have wire cutters on them, unless of course, they were taken away.”

"And you said I had a therapist." Jane chose her words carefully, not sure how to approach the POW subject. 

"You've got a psychosomatic limp-of course you have a therapist. Then there's your brother."

"Hm?" Jane puzzled, handing her phone to Sherlock's outstretched hand.

"Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat share-you wouldn't waste money on this. A gift then. Scratched by keys and coins, you wouldn't treat an item like this, so the owner then. Next bit's easy, in fact you already know." 

"The engraving." Jane finished. _To Harry, Love Clara xxx_

"Harry Watson, obviously family member, not father, a young man's gadget. Could be cousin, but you are a war hero who can't find anywhere to live, unlikely you’re close to your extended family, so brother it is. Now, Clara, who's Clara? Three kisses suggest romantic, expensive phone means wife, six month old model, and he gave it away meaning he left her. If she left him, he'd keep it out of sentiment. He gave you the phone so you'd stay in touch, however, you're not going to him. Maybe you liked his wife, didn't like the drinking."

"But how could you possibly know about the drinking?" Jane blurted out. 

"Power connection, tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he plugs it in to charge, but his hands shake. Never see those marks on a sobers’ phone, never see a drunks without them." Sherlock finished, handing back her phone. 

There was then a heavy silence. 

"There you go, you see-you were right." Sherlock went on hurriedly and nervously. 

"I was right? About what?" Jane asked weakly. "The police _don't_ consult amateurs."  Sherlock then frowned and looked out the window.

Why did he always have to do these things to be clever? He finally had one shot to have an intelligent flat mate, and of course, he blew it. 

"That..." He lowered his eyes. 

For an unexplained reason, Sherlock felt strangely bereaved at the thought of getting a new flat mate. Perhaps it would be time to leave 221B and… 

"…was amazing." 

Wait. What? What did she just say? Amazing? But why? 

"Really?" He finally managed.

"Of course it was. That was brilliant Sherlock." Jane nodded, obviously impressed. 

"That's not what people normally say."

"Oh? What do people normally say?" Jane asked, curious.

"Mostly ‘piss off’. That seems to be their favourite choice of terms."

“Except, they don’t phrase it quite like that, did she?” 

“Nope.” Sherlock responded, popping the _p_. And finally, _finally_ Jane cracked a smile, looking out the window. Just seeing her smile made Sherlock want to as well, and before he knew it, he was smiling to. Not one of his fake ones that he used to manipulate, but a genuine smile...


	3. Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just paying the rent was not what Sherlock had in mind for her.

“Did I get anything wrong?”

“…Well, yeah, but it’s not too important.”

“The smallest matter could make all the difference.” Sherlock said insistently.

Hesitating, Jane thought of her words before she said:

“…Clara was the one who left Harry. So…” Shrugging it off, she took in their surroundings.

“…That is the crime scene then?” Jane asked, nodding over to the area with flashing lights and police tape.

“Obviously.”

Striding up to the police tape, Sherlock was blocked by a woman with curly black hair, ebony skin, and dark circles under her eyes.

“Hello Donovan.” Sneering, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Hello Freak. What brings you here?”

“Crime scene. Lestrade asked me to come.” Came the terse reply.

“Why?” Looking at her with mock amazement, he said:

“Well, I think he wants me to take a look.”

“You know how I feel about you comin’ here.” Sally witheringly said, eyeing the two of them with distrust.

“Of course. Oh…” Sniffing at her, Sherlock smirked cruelly.

“Didn’t get home last night, did you?” Eyes widening, Donovan looked away, flustered.

“A-and who’s this?” When she gestured towards Jane, she knew it was her turn to speak.

“Um, hello, I’m Doctor Jane Watson. A pleasure.” Ignoring Jane’s outstretched hand, Donovan turned on her heel to look at Sherlock.

“Now you’ve got doctors following you? Always knew you had issues.”

“She’s my colleague.” At this, Sally threw her head back and laughed.

“Now you get a colleague?? What-what did he stalk you until you promised to come?” Sally laughed.

Dislike for the woman growing, Jane lifted her chin and said:

“No, I asked him if I could come, as a matter of fact.” Surprised, Sherlock looked down at her.

“Yeah? Well, good luck. You won’t last a day.” Ignoring Donovan, Sherlock lifted the police tape and stepped under.

“Well, come on.” He told Jane.

“Are…are you sure? Am I even allowed in here?”

“Technically, no. But apparently Sherlock Holmes thinks he’s above the law.” Donovan piped up.

“Maybe I should wait here for you then…” Jane hesitantly replied.

“No.” Sherlock scowled, lifting the tape insistently.

Cautiously, Jane stepped under and silently followed Sherlock.

“Oi, the Freak’s here. This time, he’s got himself company.”

“Who is she? She’s…kind of awful.” Jane whispered to Sherlock.

“Sally Donovan.” He answered as they walked up the stone steps to the porch of the house. When they were halfway up however, they were blocked by a pale man with greasy brown hair.

“Ah Anderson, here we are once again.” Sherlock sarcastically smiled.

“Now listen here! I don’t want you contaminating the crime scene, are we quite clear?” Anderson snapped in a nasal tone.

“Quite. How long is your wife away?” Sherlock asked, sniffing at him.

Annoyed, Anderson crossed his arms and glared at Sherlock.

“Don’t pretend like you went off and figured that out, someone told you, didn’t they?”

“Yes. Your deodorant.” Blinking, Anderson was confused.

“Deodorant…?”

“It’s for men, Anderson.” Sherlock stated the obvious.

“Of course it is, I’m the one wearing it!”

“As is Sally Donovan.” Sherlock coolly countered.

His face skewed into a lovely colour of scarlet, rage coursing through him. Sharply inhaling, Anderson angrily smiled.

“Now whatever you are trying to imply here…”

“Why there is nothing to imply! Certainly, Sally just came over to chit chat, ended up staying the night due to the late hour.”

Brushing past Anderson, Sherlock looked down at Sally before they entered the house.

“However, if I was recently ‘dumped’, Anderson would not be my first choice of comfort.” With those last words, Sherlock entered the house.

“Wow…so…” Looking back at the gawking figures, and then Sherlock, Jane looked up at Sherlock admiringly.

“That was…pretty cool.”

Smiling slightly, he threw her a baggy, plastic, one piece and said:

“Put these on.” “Aren’t you?” Jane asked, slipping her arms through the blue sleeves.

When he gave her a look that said _do you think I would?_   She huffed and rolled her eyes. At that moment, the man Jane recalled to be Lestrade entered.

“Oi…who’s she?”

“She’s with me.” Sherlock replied stoutly.

“Yeh, got that, but who is she?”

“The fact of her identity is unimportant at present. She is with me, end of story.” Sherlock smoothly explained as Jane finished pulling on her latex gloves.

When Lestrade shook his head and started up the staircase to the crime scene, Jane looked up at Sherlock.

“Y’know…it’s not like you couldn’t have just told him my name. It’s not like I’m a spy, or the murderer or anything like that.”

“We merely have no time for it.”

_Yeah right,_ Jane thought snarkily, _He’s just trying to be difficult._

Looking up the stairs, Jane felt her stomach churn. Several flights of stairs, a lame leg, and an impatient colleague. How on earth could she reach the top quickly?

“Is there a problem, Doctor?”

Cursing her wavering confidence, she ignored the ache in her leg and began the climb, leaning heavily on her walking stick for support. Hurrying ahead of her, Sherlock bounded up the stairs quickly.

_Naturally the murder had to be at the top floor…_ Jane grumbled inwardly as she painfully made the climb. Grateful, but slightly abashed that Sherlock waited for her, she murmured her thanks and pushed open the creaky door. She had always hated this sight as a doctor. Nothing, _nothing_ pained her more than to see a human life, gone.

“Shut up.” Looking at Sherlock in surprise, Jane furrowed her brow.

“I…didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking”, Sherlock answered “It’s annoying.”

“Pardon me for not doing the impossible.” Jane sighed, watching Sherlock crouch by the woman.

Looking at the woman, Jane tilted her head. She did not lack in colour that was for certain. From her business suit, shoes, right down to the fingernails, they were all a shade of hot pink. The curious part of this however, was that the word “Rache” was scratched onto the floor, the woman’s hand right beside the word. Did that have something to do with the murder perhaps? Running his fingers under parts of her coats, searching her pockets, and scrutinizing what would otherwise, be overlooked, Jane marvelled at Sherlock’s ability. She had not lied when she had said he was amazing.

When Sherlock stood up, Lestrade impatiently asked:

“Anything??”

“Not much.”

By that smirk however, Jane had a feeling that he knew more than he was letting on. Apparently, Lestrade knew this as well, if the eye roll was an indication.

“Been working with you for five years Sherlock, I’m not stupid.”

“She’s from Germany.” She heard Anderson’s congested voice rang out.

“RACHE! It’s German for revenge.” Anderson announced, leaning by the door.

“Yes, thank you for your input.” Sherlock sarcastically commented, slamming the door in his face and whipped out his phone.

“So…is she German, or not?” Jane asked.

“Cardiff. Came in from a heavy rain, on a business trip, and had just arrived.”

“What-Cardiff? How do you know?”

“Easily, just as I know she’s a serial adulterer, has been for ten years.”

“Oh, if you’re just makin’ all this up!” Lestrade cried.

“All of her jewellery’s clean, except her wedding ring, except on the inside, meaning she takes it off regularly. Not for her job either, she is an office worker. So who does she remove the rings for? One man?”

“Well…no. She wouldn’t be able to keep up the lie for ten years. She breaks up with them, and finds someone else?” Jane predicted.

“Precisely. As for the heavy rain, the folded down part of her collar is wet, while the opposite’s dry, meaning she turned up her coat against the rain. Her umbrella is dry, and in her pocket, and splotches of mud is shown on her tights where the suitcase she had behind her didn’t protect.”

“How do you know its Cardiff though?” Lestrade asked, crossing his arms.

“Where has there been rain the past few hours?” Clicking into his phone, he showed them both a weather report.

“Cardiff.”

“That is fantastic Sherlock!” Jane said in awe, smiling at him.

“You realize you say that aloud?”

“Oh am I laying it on to thick? Sorry, I’ll stop.”

“No…its fine. What do you think?”

“Of…the murder?”

“No. The body, you are a medical woman, I need a professional opinion.”

“Now wait a minute! We have an entire team out there, you are taking this too far!” Lestrade exploded.

“You are looking at an army doctor from Afghanistan. A very prominent career, in her very early twenties.”

Looking at the ceiling, Jane twitched her jaw. Yes, she was 5’2, and it made her look younger than she actually was, but even the detective who had read her life story off her phone?

“I’m…twenty eight. Not in my early twenties.” Clearing his throat, Sherlock shrugged off the mistake.

“Yes well, your opinion, if you will.”

“Seriously Sherlock, I can only let you go so far. You can’t let her examine the body. I’m bending enough rules letting you in here!!” Lestrade firmly stated, standing in between the body and Jane.

“Yes, because you need me.” At this, Lestrade could not argue.

“Two minutes, that’s it.” He barked, stalking out.

“What am I doing here?” Jane whispered, painstakingly kneeling beside the woman.

“Proving a point.”

“A point? I’m just supposed to be paying your half of the rent.”

“This is more fun.”

“There’s a woman lying dead, and you find it fun?” Scoffing, Jane sniffed the woman’s mouth and checked her pulse.

“Asphyxiation, choked on her own vomit, no signs of alcohol…” Checking her arm, she added:

“…Or drug abuse so far…what is this?”

“Oh you know what it was, you’ve read the papers.”

“I...don’t follow.”

“You read it in fact, this very evening.” Sherlock hinted.

“The suicide…she’s the fourth?”

“Yes, didn’t I tell you in the cab?”

“No. You haven’t told me anything. All you happened to mention was that it was a crime scene. In fact, you haven’t told me anything about yourself, what exactly you’re doing, why you took me on this bloody case, and you most certainly did not tell me about a suicide!” Jane’s voice ended in a near shout.

“No, earlier this evening, I said there was a fourth suicide, and you-”

“Sherlock! Two minutes, I said. I need anything you’ve got.” Lestrade interrupted the fight, stalking over.

“She’s indefinitely one of the suicides. Dry swallowed a pill, is now dead. I would know more however, if I knew where her phone and suitcase were.”

“How do you know she had a phone?”

“Travelled constantly, of course she’d have a phone, or an organiser. Now, where are they, when did the evidence team take them?” Sherlock asked, looking at the scratched word on the wooden floor.

“…They didn’t. There was never a phone, or a suitcase.” Slowly, Sherlock raised his head and straightened up.

“Say that again.”

“There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.” At this, Sherlock flung the door open and bolted down the stairs

“Suitcase!! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house??” He asked anyone passing, to which they all shook their heads, as if they were used to this treatment.

“Sherlock, Lestrade said that there was no case!” Jane called down the stairs, leaning over the staircase.

“But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn’t miss them.”

“Thanks a lot! And…?" Lestrade trailed off in a question.

“It’s murder, all of them. I don’t know how, but they’re not suicides, they’re killings – serial killings. We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There’s always something to look forward to.” Sherlock chuckled, clasping his hands together in delight.

“Wait! How did you go from ‘suicide’ to ‘murder’! I thought we were investigating why they were all killing themselves!” Jane yelled down.

“If you were always this oblivious, it’s a miracle you’ve made it so far in life! The evidence is right there, just look at it! ‘Rachel’ is the first clue?”

“Rachel?? What are you talking about?” Jane asked, frowning.

“It’s not a German word, it’s a name. She was trying to write Rachel! But her case, where is it? She eat it? Someone else was here, they took her case!”

Standing still, Sherlock began mumbling to himself. Suddenly, his face lit up as if he just realized the answer to a horrendously difficult problem.

“Oh….oh!!!”

“Sherlock, what, what’s going on? You find out something?” Lestrade asked, joining Jane.

“Serial killers. They are always difficult, you have to wait for them to slip up.”

“We can’t wait though!” Lestrade argued.

“We’re done waiting! Look at her, really, actually look! Houston, there’s been a mistake, go down to Cardiff, find her family and friends, and find anyone in her acquaintance with the name of Rachel!”

“What mistake??” Lestrade shouted, as Sherlock disappeared.

“PINK!” Sherlock bellowed before disappearing.

“Sherlock, wait…!” Hearing the door slam, Jane’s shoulders slumped.

Sherlock, had forgotten her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked the chapter! From now on, try and expect the chapters to come out once or twice a week.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Arch Enemy

As Lestrade and the rest hurried down the stairs, Jane knew she had been forgotten by everyone, Sherlock included. Slowly making her way down the stairs, she tried to ignore the screaming protests of her leg. Taking off her coverall, she looked over at Lestrade.

“Um, hi there. I’m Doctor Jane Watson.” She introduced herself, firmly shaking his hand.

“Hi. Sorry about upstairs, Sherlock’s always like that. How exactly do you know him…?”

“He’s a potential flat mate.”

“Blimey, you have fun with that. It’s bad enough workin’ with him. I can’t even imagine living with that guy.”

“Sorry, could you just tell me what’s going on exactly? I’ve been a bit…confused about what’s all been going on here.”

“Yeh, doesn’t seem like he told you anything. Never does. Four suicides, or what look like suicides. Exact same pill, four different people. All these people have been reported to have not been even a bit suicidal.”

“Oh…so you think it’s a murder then?”

“Yeah, and-oh, excuse me, nice meeting you.” Lestrade abruptly ended the conversation when his phone began ringing.

Heaving a sigh, she walked out to the street to look for Sherlock. Walking toward the police tape, she craned her neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

“He’s gone.” She heard Sally comment.

“Who, Sherlock?”

“Yeah, he just took off, does that a lot.”

“Well…is he coming back?”

“Probably not.”

Well this was a fine kettle of fish. She didn’t even know where she was, and this guy just hared off without her.

“Right…erm, where am I?”

“Brixton.”

“Do you have an idea on where I might get a cab? It’s just, well….my leg.” Jane admitted abashedly, her leg really starting to send shoots of pain.

“Try….let’s see…try the main road.” She instructed, lifting the tape for Jane.

“Thanks…”

“But you’re not his friend.” Looking back at Sally, Jane raised an eyebrow.

“He doesn’t have friends. So who are you?”

“I…I’m just…no one really. Just met him.”

“Okay, here’s some advice. You stay away from that Freak.”

“Why?” Jane asked, leaning on her cane.

“You know why he’s here? Lestrade wants to pay him, but he won’t accept money. He’s here because he likes it. The stranger the crime, the better. And you know what?”

“What…?”

“One day just solving a crime won’t be enough. One day we’ll be standing around a body, and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there. So you stay away from that man.”

“And why would he do that?” Jane asked, getting even more irritated with Sally.

“Because he’s a psychopath, and they get bored.” Sally stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Donovan!” Lestrade called inside the house.

“Coming!” Sally called back before looking at Jane.

“Stay away from Sherlock Holmes.” She warned.

“Yeah, thanks for the advice.” Jane said dryly, limping off.

Once she was in the city, it was still pretty crowded for the late hour. Walling past a telephone box, she heard it ring. Raising an eyebrow slightly, she shrugged it off and kept walking. Passing another one, it instantly started ringing. When a man reached to answer it, it instantly stopped. …It is possible that was a coincidence…or was it? Getting a terrible feeling, Jane walked a little faster.

“Taxi! Taxi!” She called as the driver ignored her, driving away.

“Ok….” She muttered as a fourth one rang. After a brief moment, she stepped in, and picked up the phone.

“Hello…?”

“There is a security camera on the building to your left, do you see it?”

“And who is this? Who’s speaking?” Jane asked, looking around.

“Do you see the camera _Doctor Watson_?” Never had Jane dreaded the sound of her name as she did now.

If he was calling her by her name, obviously, he knew what he was doing.

“Yeah, I see it.” She said, concentrating on keeping her voice even.

“Watch.” The camera that was focused on Jane swerved away.

“There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?”

“Yeah.”

"And finally, at the top of the building on your right.”

“How are you doing this? What’s going on?” Jane asked, as a black car pulled over.

“Get in the car Doctor Watson.” The man instructed as another man held open the door for her.

“I would threaten you, but I am sure your situation is well established in your mind.”

Click. Putting the phone down, Jane sighed, knowing full well she couldn’t do anything about this. Sitting in the car, she looked over at a well-groomed woman, obviously an office worker, on her phone. After five minutes of silence, Jane cleared her throat.

“…What’s going on…?”

“Not supposed to tell you.” The woman answered, as if it was obvious.

“Could you…tell me your name at least?”

“Umm…..Anthea.”

“That your real name?”

“No.” Anthea admitted, smirking.

Of course it wasn’t.

“Any point in asking where we’re going?”

“Nope.” Anthea replied, going back to her phone.

Naturally, this would be the day of all days to get kidnapped James Bond style, drove in a ridiculously nice car, get dumped by your test trial flat mate, and then to top this evening off, arrive into an empty warehouse, save strewn boxes here and there. Because you know, the warehouse wasn’t corny at all. Getting out, Jane set her sights on a man leaning against an umbrella, a chair fifteen feet away from him.

“Have a seat, doctor.”

“No thanks. So thank you ever so much for kidnapping me, but I really would’ve _loved_ to have had a tête-à-tête with you over a phone or something. Because I do happen to have a phone, which you could have called.” Jane said, brushing past the chair pointedly.

“When one is avoiding the attentions of Sherlock Holmes, you learn to be discreet, hence the warehouse.” The man said, smiling very patronizingly at Jane. “Wouldn’t be necessary. Pretty sure he wouldn’t care if you talked to me or not.” “Your leg must be hurting you doctor. Sit.”

“I don’t really want to sit right now, funny enough.” Jane said stubbornly, ignoring the pain in her leg.

“You don’t seem very frightened.” He observed curiously.

“Well, you don’t seem very frightening to me.”

“Ah yes, the bravery of a soldier. Bravery is the kindest word for stupidity don’t you agree?” He said, his chuckles obviously not for humorous purpose.

“I think that’s a matter of opinion.” Jane shortly answered.

“And if I may ask, what is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?” The man asked her.

“And if I may ask, what business is it of yours?”

“Just…answer…the question.”

“Yesterday. We happy now?”

“And now you’re moved in with him, solving crimes with him. Are we to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?”

“Look, who are you?”

“An interested party.”

“Interested in Sherlock? Pretty sure you’re not his buddy.”

“You’ve met him. How many ‘ _buddie_ s’ do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing Sherlock Holmes will ever have to a friend.”

“And pray, what might that be?” Jane asked, hand on hip.

“An enemy.”

“An enemy, huh?”

“In his mind certainly. I you were to ask him, he’d probably say arch-enemy. He does _love_ to be dramatic.” Looking theatrically at the warehouse, Jane looked back at him.

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t do the theatrics around here.” She drawled sarcastically. While the man frowned at her, most likely for her ‘impertinent’ remarks, Jane heard her phone ding.

_Sent 10:47 PM: Baker Street; come at once if convenient. –SH_

“So, after you left me behind, you want my help, eh?” Jane growled.

“I do hope I am not distracting you.”

“Oh don’t worry, you are not distracting me at all.” She said casually, slipping her phone into her pocket.

“Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?”

“Umm…I could be wrong, but I think that _also_ is none of your business.” Jane replied tartly.

“Oh, it could be.” He retorted ominously.

“No, it really couldn’t.”

At this, the man pulled out a burgundy suede notebook and began to read from it.

“If you do move into….two hundred and twenty-one B, Baker Street, I’d be happy to pay you a sum of money regularly to ease your way.”

“Why?” Jane inquired suspiciously, wondering where he’d gotten the address.

“Because you’re poor.”

“Who says I’m poor?”

“Says the one whom is moving into a flat with someone you barely know, much less, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Maybe I just fancied a change. So the sum. There’s a catch. The money, in exchange for…?” Not that Jane would ever take someone else’s money. She wasn’t that destitute.

“Information. Nothing of the sort that you’d be uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he’s up to.”

“And why?”

“Because I worry for him…constantly.”

“How considerate of you.” Jane answered insincerely.

“But for my own reasons, I’d prefer my concern go unmentioned. We have a difficult relationship.” The man explained as Jane heard her phone go off again.

_Sent 10: 50 PM: If inconvenient, come anyway. –SH_

“No. I don’t want money. I won’t do it.” He’d have to send bamboo shoots up her fingers. Even then, she’d never take this greasy city boy’s money.

“But I haven’t told you the sum-”

“I absolutely do not care. Forget it.”

“You are very loyal, very quickly Doctor.”

“No, no that’s not it. I’m just… not interested.” Looking down at the notebook again, he smirked.

“Trust issues….it says here. I wouldn’t have much trust either, after being a prisoner for five weeks.” Blood running cold, Jane tensed.

“How do you... know about that?” She inquired, her stomach churning.

“Could it be, that you’ve decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?”

“Who says that I _trust_ him? I don't trust people period, so why would I trust a stranger?” Jane asked, her voice beginning to shake she was so angry.

“You strike me as someone who does not make friends with ease. And yet, you choose to befriend a sociopath. Why?”

“Are we done?” Jane asked through clenched teeth, heart pounding, and blood about ready to boil at this point.

“You tell me.”

After staring at him for a long moment, Jane turned away and began to walk off.

“I imagine people have told you to stay away from him. But I can see from your left hand that’s not going to happen.” Stopping, Jane turned around slowly.

“My what?”

“Show me.” He ordered calmly, pointing his umbrella at it.

Holding out her hand from the elbow up, she glared at him defiantly. Jane didn’t want him to do anything else. The ponce had already done enough. If he was going to look, he’d better come to her. Walking over in long strides, hooking his umbrella over his arm, he reached for her hand, when Jane drew it back.

“No.” When he gave her a strict look, she reluctantly, lowered her hand.

Taking it in both hands, he looked it over.

“Remarkable.”

“What is?” She growled, yanking her hand away instantly.

“When most people look at London, they see streets, shops, and cars. But when you are with Sherlock, you see a battlefield. And you’ve seen it already haven’t you?”

“What is wrong with my hand??”

“You have a tremor in it. Your therapist thinks its post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you are haunted by the war.” Determinedly staring ahead as she was taught in the Army, she tried to shut him out.

“But you aren’t haunted are you Doctor Watson? You miss it.” Eyes widening slightly, Jane resolved on keeping her jaw tight, and continued looking straight ahead.

“Welcome back.” The man whispered with a smirk.

“Why do you care so much about whether or not I stay by Sherlock?”

“Sherlock finds you fascinating doctor. You are to him, like a puzzle. There are parts of your life that even Sherlock cannot deduce. And that is the game. He wants to find more out about you. And I believe this is a non-partisan warning that is neither for nor against Sherlock. For your own good, I would be very cautious on what you say or do about yourself near Sherlock.”

“Why? What’d he do after he ‘solved’ everything about me?”

“Because, Doctor, he would walk out on you. Once he solves this ‘puzzle’ of yours, he will indefinitely grow bored of you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Nor do you.”

“Look, what is your interest in Sherlock and I?”

“Because, doctor, you and Sherlock have a…unique chemistry. Your personalities and life experiences mesh well together. But, I’m waiting to see if Sherlock will want you. He himself is testing that. If he likes you, then congratulations. If not, I shall arrange another living area for you.”

“You want to hear something? I don’t need you to arrange anything for me. The rent is good, and believe it or not, I believe he is a talented individual and I want to get to know him! Secondly, how on earth do you know my background??” Jane demanded.

“Records go so far. Parents divorced when you were nine, and after that, you had a rather difficult home life. Only a few months ago, you were a prisoner of war, and there you were-”

“Stop it alright?? My personal life is absolutely none of your business. My records aren’t for you to look and dig through, and I ought to press charges!” Jane snapped, feeling seething anger toward the arrogant man.

“It’s time to choose a side Doctor Watson.” He instructed, twirling his umbrella. At this point, she was good and ready to take the thing and jab it into his gut. And _i_ f she chose a side, she was positive that it wouldn’t be his.

“I’m to take you home.” Anthea said, opening the door as Jane’s phone buzzed.

_Sent 10:55 PM: Could be dangerous –SH_

“Address?” Anthea asked as Jane slid in.

“…221B Baker Street, I’ll need to stop off somewhere first though.” Jane answered.

Going into her bedsit, she opened her drawer and pulled out her gun.

Just in case... Jane thought, checking the clip of the gun before putting it in her waistband.

“Any chance you couldn’t tell your employer where we went?”

“Sure.”

“Already told him didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Anthea said, half apologetic, half amused.

“Thanks.”

Traitor. Getting out of the car, Jane looked up at 221B. Could be dangerous. Jane thought of the gun tucked away and looked back at the building. Whatever was going on, she was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am just assuming everyone has seen the show (or read the books). Enter the big bad brother. It's going to be interesting to see how Mycroft and Jane's conversations go in the future haha. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I'll have a new update out soon.


	5. A Wild Car Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair learn more about each other, and Sherlock officially makes an offer

Going cautiously up the stairs, gun at the ready, Jane entered to find Sherlock sprawled on a couch, pressing his hand into the underside of his arm, exhaling and inhaling slowly, and every so often he’d clench his fist. 

“…What are you doing?” Jane asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nicotine patches, helps me think.” Jane arched her neck and noticed he had three on his arm.

As a medical professional, this annoyed her to no end. One is awful enough, but three?

“Those are three patches though!” 

“It’s a three patch problem doctor. Too difficult to sustain smoking habits in London. Its bad news for brains.”

“Well, at least you get to breathe.” Jane mumbled.

“Oh breathing, breathing’s boring.” Sherlock said, overhearing her, putting his hands together as if in prayer.

“Um….you asked me to come. Said, ‘ _could be dangerous_ ’” Jane spoke up after a lengthy silence. 

When Sherlock ignored her, she tried again. 

“…So I’m assuming that this is important, or else I’m just going to go now.” 

“Oh yeah! Can I borrow your phone?”

“Wait, what?” 

“Your'….phone….” Sherlock said as if talking to a three year old.

“Why can’t you use your own phone?” Jane asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“I don’t want to. Always a chance it could be recognized as it is on the website.”

“Then why did you put it up?”

“So people would be able to contact me obviously. If I’m not mistaken, that is the utility of the phone.” Sherlock smirked mirthlessly.

“Mrs. Hudson has a phone, Sherlock.”

“She’s downstairs. I tried calling, but she didn’t seem to hear.” 

“You know there’s this thing people do called ‘Walking down, and getting a phone’. Not that complicated. And besides, I was on the other side of London!” Jane snapped, beginning to getting angry.

“There was no hurry.” Sherlock replied cooling, extending his hand for the phone. 

Digging out her phone, she slammed the phone into his hand, a little part inside of her hoping she broke a bone. Putting his hands together again, he spun around the phone silently.

“So, what’s about this case?” Jane asked. 

“Her case.” Sherlock corrected her.

“Her case?” 

“Yes, obviously. The killer took her suitcase, the first big mistake.” 

“The mistake?”

“Ah, it’s no use, there is no other way. I suppose we’ll have to risk it.” Sherlock mumbled to himself.

“On my desk there’s a number, I want you to send a text.” 

“Okay, and then what do you want me to do?” Jane questioned, still not sure of what Sherlock needed.

“And then that is all doctor.” 

_Wait_. That was why he texted her…mouth dropping slightly, Jane gave an angry smile. 

“…You brought me here, to send a…text.” Unaware she was angry, he nodded. 

“Text, yes, the number is on my desk.” Snatching the phone from his hand, Jane stalked to the window instead of the desk. 

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked, lifting his head from the pillow.

“I just met a friend of yours.” Face scrunching up at the possibility, Sherlock slightly sat up, as he looked at her with genuine concern. 

“A friend?” Sherlock echoed, blinking.

“Enemy, actually.”

“Oh, which one?” Sherlock asked, relaxing back into the pillows 

“Your arch-enemy according to him.” Eyes narrowing, Sherlock lifted his head off the pillow again and looked at her. 

“…Did he offer you money to spy on me…?” Sherlock asked suspiciously. 

“Yeah, he did. You know him then?” 

Already one day, and he was already kidnapping his flat mates. And of course, she was already going to start her spying ventures by asking about the nicotine patches. Wonderful. 

“I keep my bedroom door locked, please don’t go in there as I like retaining a sense of privacy in areas of the flat.” 

“What are you going on about?” Jane frowned at him, tilting her head to the side. 

“Spying obviously, also, remember-” 

“Sherlock, no, stop. I didn’t take it. I am not going to spy on you.” 

“Why?”

“I would never spy on someone, it’s morally wrong, and I’m not that desperate for money! Besides, haven’t made my mind up if I even want to stay right now. This is a test trial. But, who was he?”

“The most dangerous man you’ve ever met, and not my problem presently.” Sherlock said softly as if talking to himself. Meeting his eyes with her, he pushed away the issue.

“On my desk, the number, hurry up!”

“Jennifer Wilson…wait. That’s the dead woman.” 

“Yes, but that’s not important. Just enter the number.” 

Shaking her head, Jane wondered why he sent her here to do this. 

“Are you doing it?” Sherlock asked ten seconds later.

“Yes.” 

“Have you done it??” He was like a nagging toddler.

“If you could be patient for a minute, I would have it done! Now shut it!” Jane retorted hotly. 

“These words exactly: ‘What happened as Lauriston Gardens, I must have blacked out. Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.’” 

“Right-”

“Have you sent it??”

“I only just started typing you berk!”

“Have you done it now?”

“Listen you! I’m doing you a favour, keep in mind I don’t have to be here, I could’ve just stayed home!”

“You could have, but we both know you wouldn’t.” Sherlock smirked snidely. Sending it, Jane brushed her hair back and looked over at the suitcase. 

It was pink, had clothing and undergarments, a novel, wash bag….wait. 

"That’s….Jennifer Wilson’s bag.” 

_Why does Sherlock have her suitcase?_

“Obviously.” After another time lapse, Sherlock looked up at the confused woman.

“Oh, I should probably mention that I am not the killer.” Sherlock explained, clasping his hands under his chin. 

“Never thought you were the killer, Sherlock.” 

“Why not? Since I have her case, and the text, I’d say that’s a sound assumption.” 

“Do people think you’re the murderer usually?”

“Now and then, yes.” Sherlock smirked at her, before propping himself up on the back of his chair. 

“Well, I know you’re not, so relax.” Jane replied. 

“I know you know that.” 

“Then why did you think I thought that?” Jane challenged him. 

“I didn’t think you thought that. I thought you thought, that I thought that you thought I was the killer.” 

“I didn’t think you thought I thought that you thought I thought you were the killer, so rest easy.” Limping over to the burgundy arm chair she had sat in earlier, she carefully sat down. 

“So how’d you get this?” Jane asked curiously. 

“Looking.” 

“Well, yeah, but how?” 

“The killer probably didn’t know she left it until after she’d died. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention, particularly a man. So, I checked every dumpster and back alleyway within a five minute radius of Lauriston Gardens.” 

“Oh! So that’s why you dashed out like that earlier! You went to go find the case!” Jane then realized why he had run out like that. 

“Yes.” 

“And you left me there. Without telling me where we were, where you were…”

“Oh you’re strong enough, I knew you’d be able to get home.” 

_You know, after the little kidnapping pit stop._ Jane thought dryly. 

"How long did it take you to find the case?"

"Less than an hour." Sherlock exclaimed proudly. 

"All because you knew that it was pink."

"Well it had to be pink, obviously."

"Wow, why didn't I think of that." Jane muttered sarcastically.

"Because you're an idiot." Looking at him with startled outrage, Jane glared at him. 

"Jane, don't look at me like that. Practically everyone is." 

Still not happy with his answer Jane continued glaring as Sherlock sighed.

"Now look, do you see what's missing?" Sherlock asked, trying to be gentler.

"From the case? How could I? I am an idiot after all."

"Her phone. Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, no phone in the case."

"And we know she had one, because I just texted it!" Jane noted, catching on. 

"Maybe though, she left it at home. Could be a possibility."

"She has a string of lovers, she would never leave her phone at home."

"So, why did I send the text?" 

"The question is, _where_ is her phone?" Sherlock pressed on.

"Could have lost it?" 

"Yes, or...?" Putting two and two together, Jane looked at her phone slowly. 

"The murderer. You think that the murderer has her phone."

"It's highly likely."

"Did I honestly just text a murderer? What good will that do?" Jane asked, as the phone started ringing.

As she reached for her phone, Sherlock grabbed her wrist, and pulled her back.

"Don't." Sherlock warned, looking at the Caller I.D. which read _Withheld_ _calling._

"A few hours after a recent victim, and receives a text which could only be from her. If someone found this phone, they'd ignore it but the murderer...." Pausing dramatically until the phone stopped ringing, Sherlock finished his thoughts.

"...Would panic." 

Closing the suitcase, Sherlock shrugged on his suit jacket, then his coat. 

"Have you by any chance talked to the police?"

"Four people dead, there isn't time for that."

"So why me?" 

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull." Sherlock pouted. 

"I'm filling in for your skull? Really?" Jane looked annoyed at this. 

"Relax, you're doing fine. Well?"

"Well what?" 

"Will you come? You could just go home and call it a night."

"You really want me to come?"

"I enjoy company when I go out, and think better when I talk aloud. And the skull would just attract attention so..." Sherlock trailed off.

Smiling briefly, Jane looked down at the floor brow furrowed.

"Donovan said…she said...she said you enjoy doing this."

“And she is correct. But…” Leaning in a little too close for Jane’s comfort zone, Sherlock smirked.

“…I said dangerous and here you are.” He murmured in a low voice. 

Shaking her head at him, Jane pushed herself up and followed him angrily. The git had a point.

"Where are we going?" Jane asked, struggling to keep up with Sherlock. Slowing slightly for her to catch up, Sherlock said: 

"Northumberland Street's a five minute walk." 

"Oh, you think he's stupid enough to go there?"

"No," He said "I think that he is brilliant enough. Oh I love the brilliant ones, always so desperate to get caught." 

"Why? I would think they’d want to keep going!" Jane asked, frowning. 

"Appreciation, applause, a spotlight. That is the beautiful fragility of genius Jane. They need an audience!" Looking pointedly at him, Jane nodded.

"So I have seemed to have noticed with you." 

Oblivious to the remark, Sherlock twirled about the sidewalk, accidentally bumping into three people. 

"This is his hunting ground, right here in the very heart of the city. Now that we know the victims were all kidnapped first, because all the victims disappeared from busy streets, crowds, and no one noticed their disappearance." 

"The point?"

"Who? Who do we trust, even though we don't actually know them? Who is a hunter in a crowd? A Piper leading away the children to death??"

"I don't know, who?" 

"Haven't the faintest, are you hungry?" He suddenly asked her and without waiting for a response, he went toward a restaurant.

Leading Jane into a restaurant, Jane looked over at a waiter who obviously knew him and led them to a table with a window view. 

"Thank you Billy." Sherlock said politely, sliding off his coat, as Billy removed the 'Reserved' sign. 

"Keep your eyes on twenty-two Northumberland Street." As the two sat at the reserved table at the small restaurant, Sherlock noticed Jane shifting around, trying to think of something to talk of, as it was surprisingly the first lull in event since meeting her. 

Watching Angelo come up, the two shook hands. 

"Sherlock, anything on the menu, whatever you want free, on the house for you and your date." He chuckled, winking at Jane.

"Oh, no, I am not his date." Jane answered immediately. 

"This man got me off a murder charge." Angelo beamed, smiling at the pair. 

"This is Angelo." Sherlock introduced as Angelo shook her small hand.

"Three years ago, I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder, that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house breaking."

"He cleared my name!" Angelo laughed. 

"I cleared it a _bit_. You still went to prison." After one last smile, Angelo finally said:

"I'll get a candle for the table, it's more romantic." He smirked, walking off. 

"But I'm not his date, c’mon!" Jane called indignantly after the owner, exasperated that no one seemed to care what she had to say.

"You might as well eat Jane. We have a long wait." He informed her as Angelo set down a candle and bread sticks, before giving Jane a thumbs up and a wink. 

"Thanks." She replied tetchily, picking at a bread stick. After it was quiet for a few minutes, Jane tried to stir up conversation.

“Who do you have?”

“Sorry?” Sherlock looked up, frowning. 

“Who do you have? Like, friends, family, that sort of thing.” 

“No one really.” 

“Mrs. Hudson? I know she really cares for you. And by the way, I know you’ve been living at Baker Street for a while now.” Jane said smugly, taking Sherlock by surprise.

“Perceptive.” 

“I get that from time to time. How long have you lived there?” 

“Three years.” 

“Blimey. How many flat mates in that time?” 

“Seven.” 

“They didn’t last long?”

“No.” 

“To bad for them, good thing for me.” She chuckled. 

“But, besides Mrs. Hudson, isn’t there anyone at all?”

“No.”

“Why though?” 

“You can actually think without people around you. Don’t have anyone getting in your way, no one to tell you what you can and cannot do. In the end, it’s more practical to be alone.”

“You’ve had lots of problems with authority then?”

"What relations do people have then, in their lives do you think?" Curious, he waited for her response, avoiding her last question. After thinking for a moment, Jane spoke. 

"Friends, enemies, people we love, people we hate, family, boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife.”

"Yes, well, as I was saying, dull." Sherlock dismissed, it with a shake of the head. 

"So you don't have a girlfriend then?" Jane asked, staring at him.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

“Other preference?” 

“Wha-no, no. No, just no romantic attachments period.” 

“Yeah, like me huh? Good, good.” 

No. Why? Well she was a woman, and if he was being honest, he was a fairly attractive man, she was a lonely, somewhat becoming young lady, who was just back from service. Deciding to break this to her easily, he cleared his throat.

"Jane, um...I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I am truly flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any sort of romantic relationship and…”

"No." She stopped him, and cleared her throat a little, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

"No! Oh no, I'm afraid this is a misunderstanding! I did not mean it like that, I was just curious! I'm just saying its fine to be unattached. I don't really have anyone either. No boyfriend, not really any friends either." Jane smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, as Sherlock stared at her. 

Her smile was a lonely one. She really was all alone wasn't she? Just like him. Irritated at the sudden _maudlin_ thought, Sherlock resumed to stare out the window, disgusted at himself for thinking such a sentimental thought. 

“Well, let’s just get this clear Sherlock. I’m not interested in any romantic attachments with you ever, okay?” Nodding in agreement, Sherlock suddenly sat up.

"Look across the street, taxi." Sherlock suddenly announced as Jane turned to look.

"It's stopped, nobody getting in or out.....why a taxi? Oh-h that's clever? Is it clever, why is it clever?" Sherlock rambled to himself. 

"That's him?" Jane asked, craning her neck. 

"Don't stare." 

"Um, _you're_ staring."

"Well we can't both stare, so I will." Sherlock replied, pulling on his coat and Navy scarf. Locking eyes with the passenger, the passenger turned around and the cab begin to pull away. Running out, Sherlock ran to the street, nearly getting hit by a car. As cars began angrily honking at them, Sherlock continued up the road. 

“I’ve got the cab number!” Jane announced, catching up to him.

“Good for you.” Putting his hands on his head, he closed his eyes and started quickly speaking. 

“Right turn, one way, road works, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic light.” 

Running to a building, Sherlock roughly shoved a man to the side as he scrambled up the escape, as the confused Jane followed after him. 

“Oi! Tell that lunatic boyfriend of yours to watch where he’s going yeah??” The man growled, brushing dirt of his shirt.

“Sorry! And not my boyfriend!” Jane called, going up the fire escape. 

Trying to keep up with Sherlock as he took three steps at a time, whilst she could only do two, she wondered what on earth Sherlock was up to. 

“Come on Jane!” Sherlock urged impatiently. After reaching the top of the stairs, Sherlock went down yet another flight of stairs before climbing over the railing. Leaping from one building to another, asphalt several feet under, Sherlock looked over to Jane from the other side. Stopping, Jane looked down at the large gap, and felt uncertainty sink in. 

“Jane, we’re losing them! Come on, _jump_!” Taking a deep breath she leaped over, narrowly missing the edge. Going down a ladder, they reached a walk way. 

“Brace yourself Jane, the taxi will turn to the right any moment….” He said breathlessly. 

When the taxi appeared only to turn left, Sherlock cursed under his breath. Without stopping, Sherlock hurried into an alleyway.

“This way!” When Jane turned left to follow the cab, Sherlock shook his head, and grabbed her elbow. 

“No this way! We’ll catch up sooner!” After what seemed countless alleys and streets, Sherlock ran into the path of the oncoming taxi.

“Sherlock-no!” Jane called after him when he went into the street.

Cringing when he crashed into the front of the car, she watched Sherlock fish in his pocket and pulled out a badge.

“Police, open up!” He shouted, opening the passengers’ side to reveal a nervous looking man. 

“No.” Sherlock gritted his teeth as Jane caught up.

“California….” He sighed.

“Wait, he’s from California? In the U.S? How could you know that?”

“His luggage, Los Angeles, Santa Monica, tan, just arrived.”

“Um, is everything okay?” The man asked, his accent proving Sherlock’s point. 

“Probably your first time in London going by your final destination and the route you’re taking?”

“Are you guys the police?”

“Yes, everything all right?” Sherlock asked, showing his badge again.

“…Yeah…” He answered uncertainly.

“Welcome to London.” Sherlock chirped, false smile intact. 

“Any problems and um, just let us know yeah?” Jane said, politely closing the door for him. 

Walking on the sidewalk side by side, Jane looked up at Sherlock before shoving her hands in her pockets.

“So, basically just a cab that conveniently slowed down.”

“Basically.” 

“He wasn’t the murderer then?” 

“Not the murderer, no.” He replied heavily. 

“Wrong country, wrong alibi.”

“As they go.” Sherlock exhaled, turning the police badge around in his hands. 

“Where did you get this?” Jane asked, taking away the badge to look at it. 

“Detective Inspector Lestrade? Wasn’t he the grey haired man we were working with?”

“Yeah. I pickpocket him when he’s annoying.” 

“Probably got a lot then.” Jane laughed, before giving Sherlock another side glance and laughed more. 

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…’Welcome to London’? That was all you could come up with? Really?” Jane snorted then started laughing.

“Oh…” Sherlock looked back at the cab where an actual police officer was there, glaring at Jane and Sherlock as the American pointed the two out. 

“Uh oh…”

“Got your breath back Jane?” Nodding, the two broke into a run.

“Oi, stop you two!” The police officer barked, chasing after them. 

After a twenty minute run to Baker Street, the two ran into the hallway. Leaning against the wall to catch their breath, Jane and Sherlock laughed breathlessly. 

“That was…that was one of the most ridiculous things I think I’ve ever done. We ran from the police Sherlock, geez!” She giggled. 

“Stay with me, and you’ll do more mad things than run from a half-witted officer.” Sherlock chuckled.

Realizing what he had just said, he immediately stopped chuckling when he looked at her.

Pushing herself off the wall, Jane smiled, unsure.

“Is that…an invitation to stay Sherlock?” 

“Yes. Obviously. When I suggested you look at the flat, it was not in my intentions to jest.” Sherlock ineptly looked away, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"I...just thought you were messing with me. You really want me to stay?"  
"Clearly." 

“Then, I shall consider taking that flat share seriously. Why aren’t we back at the restaurant?” 

“Oh, they can keep an eye out for us. It was a long shot anyhow.”

“What are we doing back here?” 

“Passing the time…and proving a point.” Sherlock answered, looking back at Jane.

“Point? What point?”

“The point was you, Jane. Mrs. Hudson, Jane will take the room upstairs!”

“Hey, I didn’t say I _would_ yet, I’m still thinking about it! Besides, who says so?” 

“Says the man at the door.” Sherlock gestured towards the knocking door. 

Opening the door cautiously, Jane frowned up at Angelo. 

“Angelo was it?” 

“Sherlock texted me, said you left this at the restaurant.” He said, giving her something.

“My….my cane! Thanks, have a goodnight…” She murmured, taking it back and closing the door. 

“Sherlock, I….thank you.” 

“It’s…”

“Oh Sherlock, what have you done?” Mrs. Hudson interrupted, hurrying down the stairs tearfully.

“What?” Sherlock asked, frowning in confusion. 

“Up-upstairs. Some men came in and started rifling through all your things….” 

Exchanging a quick glance, Jane and Sherlock hurried up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked the chapter! Their style of partnership hopefully was shown a bit more this chapter. Until next chapter!


	6. Busted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock decides to venture into a rather dangerous expedition.

 As Sherlock opened the door, he gritted his teeth. Scotland Yard, rifling through all of his carefully placed objects, and the culprit himself, Lestrade, reclining on the worn red chair.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock nearly shouted.

"Well I knew you'd find the case, I'm not stupid Sherlock!" Lestrade retorted.

"You-you can't just break into my flat!" Sherlock argued, affronted.

"And you can't just withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat."

"What would you call this then??" Sherlock asked angrily, gesturing widely to all the officers.

"It's a drugs bust!" Lestrade explained cheerfully.

“Seriously? A drugs bust? Have you even met Sherlock?!" Jane defended Sherlock.

Turning to face her, Sherlock walked up to Jane, biting his lip.

"Jane..." He muttered nervously.

"I'm pretty sure that you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could hardly call recreational! This man would know better than to do drugs." Jane told Lestrade confidently.

“Jane, stop.” Sherlock said under his breath.

“He is a genius! He wouldn’t do something like that!” Grabbing her arm, Sherlock pulled her towards him so only she could hear him.

“Jane, you might want to stop talking.”

“But, Sherlock, do you hear what they are saying about you? It’s…it’s not true right?”

“I used to. A long time ago.” Sherlock stated quietly, just saying the words made his stomach clench.

When he watched her eyes look down, he felt anxious.

"What?" He asked her, hoping she was thinking of something else, no matter how unlikely that was.

"You?" She asked, the trust she had beginning to have for him, dissipating in her eyes, the light making her eyes have a hue of umber and a dark green.

"Drop it, okay?" He snapped waspishly, before turning back to face Lestrade, trying to ignore the disappointment in Jane's eyes.

“I am not your sniffer dog.” Sherlock informed Lestrade haughtily.

“No, Anderson’s my sniffer dog.” Lestrade retorted, nodding at the kitchen.

Leaning his head out of the kitchen, Anderson gestured a sarcastic hello with a small wave of the hand.

“Anderson, what are you doing here on a bust??” Sherlock demanded.

“Oh, I volunteered.” Anderson sneered.

“They all did.” Lestrade added, as Sherlock’s chest heaved angrily.

“Are these….human eyes??” Sally asked, wrinkling her nose, holding up a jar.

“Put those back!” Sherlock snarled.

“They were in the microwave.”

“An experiment, Donovan.”

“Keep looking guys.” Lestrade instructed.

He didn’t do drugs anymore. He made it a _point_ not to do them. Whilst he still had some in the flat, he never used them. Why he still had them though….

“…Or you could help us properly and I’ll call off the search.”

“This is childish!” Sherlock roared, pacing.

“I’m dealing with one right now. Sherlock, this is our case, not yours! You do not go off on your own are we clear?”

“What, so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to-to bully me into doing what you want?!”

“Oh, it stops being pretend if they find anything.” Lestrade responded dangerously.

“I. Am. CLEAN.” Sherlock emphasized, his voice hitching at the end of his sentence.

“But is your flat clean? Is all of it gone, really?”

“I am clean Lestrade! I don’t even smoke!” Sherlock insisted, rolling his sleeve to reveal a nicotine patch.

“Neither do I.” Lestrade said, rolling up his own sleeve to reveal a similar patch.

“So, let’s work together yeah? We found Rachel.”

“Who is she?” Jane piped up.

“Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.”

“Daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name?” Sherlock asked, trying to ignore Jane’s worried glances at him.

“Who cares? We found the case. According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we happened to find it with the resident psychopath.” Anderson’s high voice added, gesturing towards the pink suitcase.

“I am a high functioning _sociopath_ , not a psychopath, do your research.” Sherlock leered, before turning back to Lestrade.

“You need to bring Rachel in, we need to question her.”

“She’s dead….actually.” Lestrade revealed heavily.

“Excellent! How, when, and why? Is there a possible connection?”

“Well…I doubt it since she’s been dead fourteen years. Rachel was a stillborn.” Grimly staring at the ground, Jane felt extreme sympathy for Jennifer Wilson, while Sherlock oddly enough, looked confused.

“No…that’s not right. Why would she do that…?” Sherlock asked, thinking.

“Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup, seeing the sociopath.” Anderson snidely remarked.

“She didn’t think of her daughter-she wrote it. Scratched it on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying, it would have hurt.”

“Well, you said the killer made them all take the poison. Maybe he used her daughter’s death somehow?”

“Why would she still be upset about that? That was ages ago!” The flat fell silent.

“Not good…?” Sherlock asked Jane after a long silence filled the air.

“Bit not good yeah…” Jane admitted.

“Yeah, but if you were dying, being murdered…in your last seconds, what would you say?”

“…Please God let me live.” Jane hesitated before answering.

“Oh c’mon use your imagination! Something more creative than that!” Sherlock mocked her, before stopping when he saw her pained expression.

“I don’t have to use it, Sherlock.” Jane said, glaring at him sharply, her eyes distant with a no doubt terrible memory.

Shifting awkwardly, Sherlock decided not to make a comment.

“But if you were clever, really clever, Jennifer Wilson with all those lovers, she was clever. And she was trying to tell us something.”

“Oh dear, they’re making such a mess, what are they looking for Jane?” He heard Mrs. Hudson come in and began speaking to Jane.

“A drugs bust.”

_Jennifer Wilson, Pink, Rachel, Pink, clever, what did she write Rachel for? What did all of this mean? What would Jane say to him about the drugs? Wait-irrelevant, concentrate on case, concentrate on case_.

“What! Why that’s absurd!” Mrs. Hudson protested.

_Connections to Rachel…what would Jane say-no-concentrate!_ Gritting his teeth, Sherlock’s patience was at an end.

“SHUT UP! NOBODY SPEAK, DON’T MOVE, DON’T EVEN BREATHE! Anderson turn to the wall, your face is putting me off.”

“My face!” Anderson sputtered.

“Anderson, just do as he says!” Lestrade ordered sharply.

“Come on, come on think!!” Sherlock scolded himself, when a sudden realization dawned on Sherlock.

“Oh…..oh! Oh, she’s clever! She’s cleverer than the whole lot of you and she’s dead! She didn’t lose the phone, never did! She planted the phone on him!”

“But how?” Lestrade asked, frowning.

“Don’t you see, Rachel?” When Lestrade shook his head in confusion, Sherlock flared his nostrils and looked about at everyone.

“Oh you are all so vacant. What is it like not to be me? Must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name of a girl.”

“What?” Jane asked in disbelief.

“Jane, check her luggage, email is on the label.” Sherlock instructed, pulling open a laptop.

After typing in her address, Sherlock stared at the password.

“Since she travelled, she did most work mobile, probably didn’t use a computer much. So, her password would be….”

“Rachel.” Jane said as he typed it in.

“So we can read her emails. Who cares?” Anderson shrugged before both Jane and Sherlock slowly turned to stare at him.

“Anderson. Don’t speak, you lower the IQ of the whole street.” Sherlock said disparagingly, before turning back.

Apparently there was no limit to how thick you could be.

“This phone’s a smart phone. So if you lose it, it has a GPS system to locate it online. So, she’s leading us right to the killer.” Sherlock announced, pulling up a locater on the screen.

“He could’ve gotten rid of it though.” Lestrade spoke up doubtfully.

“No he didn’t, we checked.” Jane replied, looking over Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Agh, come on, come on quickly!” Sherlock urged the GPS.

Sitting in Sherlock’s seat once he got up to pace, Jane watched the countdown of three minutes before the phone could be located.

“We’re going to need vehicles, a helicopter. We’re gonna have to move fast, the phone battery won’t last forever.” Sherlock was told Lestrade.

“It’ll only be a map reference though, no names.” Lestrade said doubtfully.

“But it’s a start!”

“Sherlock….” Jane tried to speak up.

“It narrows it down to from just anyone in London! First proper lead we’ve had!”

“Hey, Sherlock!” Jane shouted above all the bustle.

“What is it? Did you find the phone?” Sherlock asked, leaning over Jane.

“Yeah, still in London, thankfully.”

“Right, good, is it moving?”

“Yeah, it’s going down on the street.”

Running over, Lestrade looked over Jane’s shoulder as well.

“Alright everyone, we’re moving out! I want a ten mile perimeter on Lisbon Street!” Lestrade yelled, as everyone went down the stairs to the cars.

“And you two, keep an eye on the GPS, Sherlock, text me if you get anything new!”

“Perhaps we will.” Sherlock shrugged indifferently, not too keen on following orders.

From Lestrade of all people. After the cars were gone, Sherlock put on his coat again.

“Jane, take the laptop and come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to Angelo’s.”

“What? But I thought we were there to kill time!” Jane argued, following him, laptop in hand.

“Yeah, well, now we’re not, come along!”

“So, Sherlock…”

_Ah, here it was. The confrontation_.

“I don’t really get your reasoning for the recreation, but I know you’re clean now. This is none of my business, and it’s up to you, but…I would try to get rid of the rest of the drugs you have in this flat, okay?” Smiling encouragingly at him, Jane spoke.

“Thank you Jane.”

***

Once they were back at Angelo’s in the same booth, Sherlock began rapidly tapping his fingers as Jane kept her eye on the GPS.

“No sign still.”

“I suppose, this has all been a long shot. But I do know this: I don’t know who the killer is, but I know what he is.” Sherlock responded tersely, continuing to glance out the window.

“How?”

“Jane, it’s so simple. Why can’t people just think for once?”

“Because we are all bumbling idiots according to you.” Jane snidely remarked, smirking at him.

Twitching his mouth as if contemplating whether or not to recant his remark, Sherlock sighed and looked outside again.

“We know that he drove his victims to their deaths, but there is no sign of direct violence on them, in fact, they administered the pills themselves. Each one of these people climbed into the murderer’s car voluntarily.”

“But why though?”

“Think Jane! Who do we trust when we’ve never seen them? Who do we go to when we’re drunk, want to go home, who? The killer was someone they trusted.”

“But not someone they knew.”

“Exactly.”

“Wait…someone’s car you go into regardless that you don’t know them? Public transport! A cabbie!”

“Yes. They are the perfect murder weapon.” Sherlock murmured, scrutinizing a cab before shouting:

“Angelo, a glass of white wine, quickly!”

“Sherlock?”

“Jane, do you see that cab?”

“Yeah…Sherlock, wait, you can’t seriously think that’s him! We’ve been looking all night, and besides, there are several cabs that come up and down these streets all night!”

“This one’s different Jane, he stopped.”

“Maybe he’s just waiting for a fare?” Jane watched as the cabbie waved away a woman.

“Unlikely.”

“We don’t know if it’s him Sherlock.”

“We don’t know if it isn’t. And, if you don’t believe me, refresh the GPS.”

Refreshing it, Jane’s mouth dropped open and looked at the stopped cab.

“Unbelievable. That’s him.”

“I told you.”

“How could you possibly tell because of a stopped cab?? And-and where exactly the cab would end up?? It’s-impossible!”

“Jane, almost nothing is impossible.” Sherlock remarked as Angelo returned.

“Ah, Angelo, thank you.” Sherlock gave a lopsided smirk before splashing the wine on himself and patted down his face with a napkin.

“Watch. Do not interfere.” He warned Jane firmly, before looking up at Angelo again.

“Angelo, we’re going to do the ‘headless nun’”

“Ah-h now that was a case! Throw you out again?”

“If you don’t mind.” Immediately, Angelo grabbed the lapels of Sherlock’s coat and shoved him toward the door while Jane watched, eyes wide.

“OUT OF MY RESTAURANT YOU DRUNK, AND STAY AWAY!!” Angelo yelled, throwing him out of the restaurant, Sherlock staggering.

“He-y just lemme pay for my bill Ang-” Sherlock protested, voice loud and woozy.

“No, no, no! You are never coming here again! Your poor date, she is heartbroken! Now, away with you!!” Angelo bellowed.

Leaning on a pole for support, Sherlock stumbled out onto the street, nearly getting hit by a car.

“Um…what is he doing…?” Jane asked, watching Sherlock’s flawless ‘drunk’ performance.

“Sherlock’s on the case. Bad news for the cabbie.” Angelo chuckled, folding his arms.

Swaying over to the cab, Sherlock began obnoxiously tapping the cabbies windows with both hands.

“Hay, ha-y come on man!” Sherlock slurred, extending his hands.

“Sorry, off duty. And besides, I don’t take drunks.”

“Two-two one….Baker Street.”

“I’m off duty mate, ya see the light?” The cabbie snapped.

“Just round tha' corner.”

“No!”

“221B! 221B mate! The address is…two, two, two, two one ‘B’ Baker Street!” He chanted, staggering to the cabbie’s blind sight, pulling out Jane’s phone.

“I don’t do drunks, especially the loud ones! Now move along!”

Ducking out of the view of the window, Sherlock dialled the pink phone’s number. Hearing the cabbie’s phone ring, he heard his line pick up.

“Hello?”

“How do you make them kill themselves? How do you make them take the poison?” Sherlock asked, his voice low.

“What? W-what did you say?” He stammered into the phone. Running towards the cabbie window, he grabbed the man by his jacket.

“I SAID, HOW do you make them take the POISON?” Sherlock snarled, shaking him.

“Oi, who are you??”

“Sherlock Holmes!”

“Do you like drugs, Sherlock ‘Olmes?”

“...Not in a while.” Sherlock answered after a brief moment.

“I ask, because you’re very resilient to ‘em.”

Frowning in confusion, Sherlock pulled back to find a needle jabbed into his arm. Trying to pull it out, he found his limbs refusing to cooperate with him. Looking over at Sherlock, Jane narrowed eyes when she saw him flailing his arms weakly, and acting as if something was wrong.

“It’s alright, it’s all part of the act.” Angelo assured her.

“It’s okay everyone! He’s just drunk! Just takin’ him home!” Jane heard the cabbie say loudly.

“JA-JAY-” Hearing him erupt into horrible coughing and watching the cabbie practically throw him in, Jane’s eyes widened. He was trying to say her name. Something went wrong. Shoving him onto the floor of the cab, the cabbie leered down at him.

“Trouble is, they all think it’s an act. But we know better don’t we?” He cackled, slamming the door shut, before getting into the cab and driving off. Trying to get up, to open the door, Sherlock wheezed as his numb fingers scraped at the door handle.

“Uhh…Jane….help….ugh…” Collapsing, Sherlock’s mind went black.

***

Seeing spots, Sherlock tried to blink them away. He smelled cleaning product, a cold linoleum floor underneath him, and white lights. He felt sweaty, it hurt to breathe, he couldn’t see properly.

“Welcome back to the land of the living Mr. ‘Olmes. Only been out about fifteen minutes ya know.”

Trying to get up, he leaned on a table to steady his shaking legs before collapsing again.

“You’re quite strong, I’m impressed.”

Breathing hard, he took in the surroundings.

“We’re in a college…” He mumbled.

“Hope ya don’t mind. Always a nice spot for a murder don’t you think?”

Managing to stand up all the way, Sherlock felt his legs give out again as he made hard contact with the ground, face slamming down hard.

“Ooh, nasty fall. Stop trying. You’ll be weak for another hour or so.”

Hauling up Sherlock, he put him on one of the benches before sitting opposite him.

“Don’t try calling out, it’s just you an’ me here.”

Wanting to throw up, Sherlock instead chose to glare at the man.

“What game are you talking about?”

Smiling, Jeff pulled out two identical bottles and set them down.

“You’re going to love this.”

“Love what exactly?”

“You don’t get it do you? Well you’re about to.” He uttered, pulling out an identical bottle.

“About to understand...what?”

Instead of answering, the cabbie leaned back in his seat.

“Sherlock ‘Olmes, in the flesh. Your fan told me all about you, and that website of yours.”

“My fan?” Sherlock asked groggily, focusing on trying to get his strength back.

“You are brilliant. You are a genius, a proper one. ‘The Science of Deduction’, now that’s proper thinking. Between you an’ me, why can’t people just think? Don’t it make you mad?” Eyes widening in a realisation, Sherlock then narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, I see. So you’re a proper genius… to...” Sherlock drawled sarcastically.

“Don’t look it do I? A cab driver who’s a genius.”

“Explain the bottles.”

“There’s a good bottle and a bad bottle. Take the good one, you live, bad one, you die.”

“And…they are identical.”

“In every way.” The Cabbie chuckled.

“And you know which one is which?”

“Course I do. It’s just you that don’t wouldn’t be a game if you knew. You are the one who chooses.”

“…Why should I? I’ve got nothing to go on, and there’s nothing in it for me.

” “Haven’t told you the best bit. Whatever one you don’t choose, I take. And I won’t cheat. You choose, you decide.”

“This is what you did. Gave them all a choice.” “And now I am giving you one. I want your best game.”

“My best game? I am drugged, barely cohesive in speech, and you want my ‘best game’? This isn’t going to be a game, it’s merely chance.” “Look at me Mr. ‘Olmes. I’ve won four times. It’s not chance, it’s chess. One move, one winner. And this….this is my move." Jeff whispered, sliding Sherlock a capsule. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it! I changed how he met the cabbie, because I personally like that version better (Kudos to who knows where it's from). See you all next week!


	7. Play the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane makes her decision, the case is ajourned, and they hit it off over a bowl of lo mein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I can't believe this story is already done! I hope you guys enjoyed this first story, and within a week or two, the next story will come out! If you have any thoughts, criticism, or opinions, I'd love to hear them!

"You ready yet Mr. 'Olmes? Are you ready to play?"

"Play what exactly? You drugged me, most likely the other victims and now want me to play the odds?”

"You're not playing the odds, you are playin' me. And you should know before ya die that I didn’t drug ‘em. You’re the first, now don’t you feel special?”

“Very. Convenient that you had them on hand….”

“It was insurance.”

“It was fear you’d fail. If they actually got away.”

“Oh no. They had an option. This, or…”

Pulling out a gun, Jeff glared at Sherlock.

“You played them by chance.”

“It isn’t chance. I’ve beaten four people, almost five.”

“Luck. And it will stay four I can assure you…”

"It's genius. I know 'ow people think, I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all like a map."

Rolling his eyes and looking exasperated, Sherlock merely sighed and raised an eyebrow at the pills.

“Everyone’s so stupid….even you.”

“You risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?”

“Time to play.”

The cabbie avoided the question, motioning at the bottles once more.

“Oh but I….am playing. There’s a bit of shaving foam behind your ear and no one’s pointed it out. The reason no one did is because there’s no one to do that.”

Stiffening slightly, the cabby looked up at Sherlock frowning.

“I saw a picture before I passed out. Of a little boy and girl. Someone had been torn out of the picture. If she died, she’d still be in it. The frame’s new, pictures old meaning you most likely don’t get to see the children often. She took the kids, but you still love them. And there’s more…”

Stopping to catch his breath when his head spun, Sherlock kept speaking.

“Your clothes, recently laundered but at least three years old. Keeping appearances but not planning for the future. In fact…”

Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly as he made a realization.

“You are dying…you don’t have long, am I right?”

“Aneurism. Any breath could be my last.”

“So you went and killed four people because you are dying.” Sherlock stated flatly.

“No. I have outlived four people. That’s the fun. I get to outlive ‘em.”

“No, it’s more than that. You didn’t kill out of bitterness. Bitterness is a paralytic but love is a much more vicious motivator. This has something to do with your children doesn’t it?”

“Oh-h, you are good, ain’t you?”

“But how?” Sherlock inquired.

“When I die, my kids won’t get much. Not too much money involved with being a cabbie an’ all.”

“Or serial killing.” Sherlock added wryly.

“You’d be surprised.” The cabbie chuckled.

“Surprise me.” Leaning in, the cabbie smirked.

“I ‘ave a sponsor. Every life I take, money goes to me kids. The more I kill, the better off they’ll be. See? Nicer than you think.”

“Who would sponsor a serial killer?” Sherlock asked slowly.

“Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ‘Olmes? You aren’t the only one out there who enjoys this stuff. There’s others out there like you, except…you’re just a man…and they’re so much more than that.”

_Just a man._ Sneering disdainfully at the remark, Sherlock glared at the cabbie.

“What do you mean by more than a man? An organization, what?”

“There’s a name no one says, an’ I’m not gonna say it myself. Now, enough chit chat. Time to choose.”

“…What if I don’t want to choose?” Motioning at the gun, Jeff smiled coyly.

“Take your fifty-fifty chance, or I shoot you now.”

“I’ll take the gun.” Sherlock announced, folding his hands together.

“…Are you sure?”

“Oh yes. Quite.” Sherlock replied, smiling calmly.

“Don’t want to phone a friend?”

“The…gun…now.”

Mouth in a tight line, the cabbie blew the trigger only to release a puff of smoke.

“I know a real gun when I see one.”

“No one else did.”

“Clearly. Well, this has all been _very_ interesting, and I am looking forward to the court case.”

Sherlock then, with effort, lifted himself up and started shakily towards the door.

“Just before you go, did you figure it out?” He asked, as Sherlock’s hand opened the door.

“Of course. Child’s play.”

“Then tell me. Which one would ya have picked? It’s just so I know whether or not I’d have beaten you.” Closing the door, Sherlock turned around slowly.

“Come on. Play the game.” Without hesitation, Sherlock took the one nearest to the cabbie.

“Interesting choice. So shall we then?”

_She’d never make it._

“Really what do you think?”

_Throwing open next another door to another empty room, she continued the fruitless search. He had been drugged, the bugger had her phone, it was nearly impossible to get there in time._

“Can you beat me?” The cabbie asked, slowly standing to his feet, facing Sherlock.

“Are you clever enough to bet your life?” He was probably dead by now.

“I bet you get bored, don’t you? I know it in fact. A man like you…so clever. But what’s the point of being clever if you can’t prove it?”

Unscrewing the bottle, Sherlock pulled out the pill, and held it to the light, examining it.

“Still the addict.”

_She had to get there in time. She had to._

“But this…this is what you’re really addicted to.” Bringing the pill to his mouth, Sherlock’s hands shook.

“You’d do anything…anything at all…to stop being bored.” Smiling, the cabbie opened his mouth.

Just as Sherlock was about to put the capsule in his mouth, the sound of shattering glass and a gunshot rang out. Ducking, Sherlock looked at the cabbie, who had fallen down, blood seeping through his jacket. Whirling around, he saw an open window and briefly heard a door slam from the other room. Looking at the window, he peered through the glass and saw no one in sight. Whoever had shot the cabbie was long gone.

“Was I right?! Tell me, was I right?” Sherlock demanded.

When he didn’t reply, Sherlock threw the pill down and stood up.

“Fine, then tell me this, your sponsor. Who was it? The ‘fan’ you told me about, I want a name.”

“No.” He chocked.

“You’re dying, but there’s still time to hurt you. Now, a name!” Putting his foot on the wound, Sherlock pressed down, making him shriek in agony.

“A name!” “N-No-!”

“A NAME!” Sherlock shouted angrily.

“MORIARTY!!” The man shrieked, before breathing his last.

Checking his pulse, Sherlock stood up. Who was the shooter? Whoever it had been, he was gone.

***

Outside the college, Sherlock sat on the back of the ambulance as those annoying medics kept placing a garish orange blanket over him. By the time the police arrived, the effects of the drug had worn out, and now he was just tired and hungry. Every time he took it off, they placed it over him again. As Lestrade strode over, Sherlock gestured toward the blanket.

"Why have I got this blanket on? They keep putting it on me."

"Yeah, it's for shock."

"But I'm not _in_ shock." At this Lestrade grinned.

"Yeah, but some guys from the paper want to take photos." He explained as Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"So, the shooter. No sign?"

"Cleared off before we got 'ere. Bet a guy like that would have enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him, I don't really have anything to go on. D’you have any suspicions?”

“A few.”

“Well c’mon then, we do need to track down the guy!”

“The man only shot at the last moment, that right there tells you about him. A man of high morals, only shooting until absolutely necessary.”

“Alright…so?”

“He shot with my back turned to him, meaning his hands could not have shaken at all, so he’s clearly acclimatized to violence. So, strong morals, adapted to fighting and hostility. You are looking for a man with a military career….”

Breath stuttering, it hit Sherlock. _Jane._ How could that be? It was not possible that she’d have gone after him.

“Nerves…nerves of steel…” He murmured.

_It was Jane._

“Oi, Sherlock?”

“You know what? Forget what I just said.”

“What??” “It was just erm-shock talking there.”

“Sherlock!”

“I’m in shock! I even got a shock blanket! My job is done.” Sherlock announced, rising to his feet.

“Alright then. Tomorrow morning, paperwork. Off you go.”

Tossing the orange blanket away, he hurried away. She would kill for him? She barely knew him, she probably wasn’t even certain if she wanted to stay? But she wanted the adventure, the thrill of the chase. Her course of action tonight proved that. And she needed someone, just like he… Frowning, he shrugged off the strange thought. He didn’t…need her. He didn’t need anyone, so why think about that now?

***

Hurriedly walking, Jane shoved her hands into her coat pockets. Shoot first, ask questions later had always been her slogan. Never kill, ask questions. However, a vital area was all she could hit if she didn’t want to take down Sherlock as well. Her sniper training had indeed proved to be useful. She remembered the pressure of instructors to become a marksman. Instead of someone who kills however, she wanted to be someone who saves. Sherlock would most likely have put two and two together at this point. Who else would be crazy enough to shoot at such a distance? What now? Turn a new leaf and go to Oxford? Her brother had been trying to get there since she came back. But there was no chance Sherlock would want her as a flatmate now. He probably found out she missed the war. What kind of person would miss the bloodshed and guns? Someone who was messed up. And Jane Watson was very, _very_ messed up.

Suddenly feeling as if she was being watched, Jane narrowed her eyes and put her hand near her gun. That man with the umbrella, and the James Bond assistant were watching her from a parking lot.

_The most dangerous man you’ll ever meet.._. Jane recalled Sherlock’s foreboding words and scowled.

Alone, parking lot…this did not look good. Putting off the inevitable, she sighed and took firm strides towards them.

“Dr. Watson.”

“Hello.” She replied stiffly.

“A rather…interesting hour to be out, wouldn’t you say?”

Even in this bleak atmosphere, Jane had to chuckle at the irony.

“Says the other person out at this ‘interesting hour’.”

Knowing it was a bad choice to voice her thoughts, she cleared her throat.

“Anyhow, I’m sure you’re busy. Bye.”

“Just a moment, Doctor.” Stopping, she turned to face him again.

“You truly believed I wouldn’t know of your ‘rescue mission’?”

Crap. He knew to.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She deadpanned, meeting his eyes.

“Oh, I do believe you do. But after today, you needn’t concern yourself with his affairs any longer.”

“And…why not?” Jane asked, the anger she held back for this man beginning to bubble to the surface.

“Tomorrow, you will conveniently be called away from London.”

“Excuse me! Who are you to dictate where I go??” Jane demanded hotly.

“I can find incriminating evidence on this event. And do believe me when I say, ‘I am quite capable’.” The man said threateningly, looming over the woman.

Refusing to be intimidated, she glared back at him.

“Hey! I am not just going to up and leave, because some pissed off man is telling me to! And besides, why are you so ridiculously concerned with Sherlock Holmes?!”

Hearing footsteps, Jane watched Sherlock walk up.

_How did he even know where I was?_ She thought, watching Sherlock glare at him.

“So another case solved. How very public spirited…though that’s never really your motivation is it?” The man in the suit said, swinging his umbrella.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked stiffly, barely controlling his anger.

“As ever, I am concerned about you.”

“Yes, I have been hearing about your so-called ‘concern’.” Sherlock growled.

“Yes, this concern of mine is in fact saving you. I am taking care of a small matter.”

“You mean meddling in my affairs?”

“As of late, I don’t recall you being disconcerted with the way your’ life situations are handled.”

“Then recall it. As a matter of fact, I have been disconcerted. Or can you not see past the end of your nose, Mycroft?”

“Always acting so…antagonistic. Has it ever occurred to you even once that I indeed, am on your side?”

“How odd, no.”

“You can’t keep her.”

“Why not?”

“I understand people much better than you, you know that. I can inform you, that this woman is no good she…” Lowering his voice, Mycroft cast a look over at the scowling lady before saying:

“…Has a rather peculiar medical record. PTSD, and even more so…a danger addiction.” Mycroft ended the sentence sourly.

“Yes, I know, that is why I had her come to the crime scene. My work is rather dangerous as you might have gathered, and I need someone who is not going to faint at the sight of blood.”

“You-intentionally selected her because of this???” Mycroft seethed, gesturing at her as if she were a puppy he was trying to convince his brother not to get.

“Partially. Also, Jane does not seem to be as idiotic, and it is better than working with Anderson.”

“So you chose a live in one. You have to realise, she cannot stay with you.”

“Of course she can. As you had said, I need a flatmate, and she needs a flat she can afford.”

“Other living arrangements can be very well made for her.” Mycroft haltingly stated.

“Mycroft. I don’t need your ‘concern’. She is fine where she is.”

Not sure who to be angry at, Jane fixed her ever darkening glare on the both of them. She most certainly did not appreciate being spoken about as if she wasn’t even there. And she also didn’t like it that they sounded like whether or not Sherlock should be keeping a homeless animal, rather than an actual human.

“Y’know…” Waiting until they stopped squabbling, Jane tensed her jaw.

“…It looks like you two need to sort stuff out, so I guess I’ll be going. Goodnight.” Nodding curtly at them, she quickly hurried off.

“Stay out of it Mycroft.” Sherlock snapped before whirling off after her.

***

“Sir, shall we go?” Anthea asked, walking up to Mycroft. Instead of answering, Mycroft watched the pair.

“Interesting, that soldier. We’d better upgrade their surveillance status.” Looking up from her phone, Anthea raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry sir, who’s status?”

“Sherlock and…that soldier.” Watching them, Mycroft frowned. Watching Sherlock act this way around this woman, it seemed as if Sherlock had known her for years, when it was only two days. Dr. Watson, seemed capable of keeping up with him, and hopefully would keep him in a much needed line. He knew they would either love or kill each other. Possibly both. She could very well be the makings of Sherlock, or the ruin.

***

Waiting for a cab, Jane cracked her knuckles as she waited. How did Mycroft and Sherlock know one another? They argued as if they were…family. Odd. Hearing a pair of shoes, Jane knew Sherlock found her without turning around to even look.

“Are you alright from….all of that back there?” Jane sighed, referring to the cabbie.

“I’m fine. Someone shot the killer.”

“Well, good. Lestrade told me all about it, so I just thought I should return to my bedsit for today.” Jane hastily said.

When Sherlock gave her a look that seemed to say: _Oh please, I know it was you,_ she cordially ignored him.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. I am waiting for a cab as well. Speaking of which, good shot.”

He knew. He knew, and he was trying to trip her up. She wouldn’t let him though.

“Yeah, the killer had to have been, I guess.”

“Yes, she would’ve. Of course, I believe you’d know all about that.”

“Lestrade said-”

“-I believe the shooter would know more than anyone, Jane.” There was no use pretending.

“You were going to take the pill, I had to stop you.” “Of course I wasn’t. I was biding my time, I knew you’d turn up.”

“No you didn’t! You had no earthly clue whether or not I’d show! You told me to stay at the restaurant, and then ran off. It’s a lucky thing I saw you were actually in danger!”

Quiet for a moment, Jane knew Sherlock was devising a snide retort.

“You’re smart, I knew you would catch on.”

“Thought I was an idiot. Now I’m smart again?”

“Well…you-are not as idiotic as others.” Taking that as a compliment, Jane smiled.

When a cab came, Sherlock opened the door, then paused.

“Coming?” Hesitating a little, Jane nodded slightly and got in with him.

“So that…Mycroft fellow. Do you mind telling me who he was?”

“My brother.”

“Y-you’re brother?? That guy!?” She exclaimed.

“Well, yes. I thought that was…fairly obvious.”

“You two seem like polar opposites!”

“Do we?” Sherlock mused.

“So he’s not…”

“Not what?” Sherlock asked, staring at her.

“Um, no, it’s stupid.” Jane shyly shifted her feet.

“Go on, spit it out.” Sherlock prodded her.

“A criminal mastermind…?” She asked gingerly.

“Close enough Jane. That’s just about what he is.” Sherlock smirked bemusedly at Jane.

“He occupies a minor position in the government, if he isn’t freelancing with the MI6 or the CIA. Practically is the British government.” Sherlock corrected himself.

“Oh…wow. So, he keeps busy does he?”

“A bit.” When the car was filled with a comfortable silence, Sherlock thought of the six words he wanted to say to her since the cabbie.

“A question.”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you come after me?”

“Back there at the restaurant I heard you kept trying to say my name and it didn’t look right at all so…”

“…So you… went after me?” Sherlock finished for her.

“Of course, that’s why I’m here.”

“How quaint.” Sherlock drawled.

“What’s quaint?”

“You are.”

“Me? I was just trying to save your life, and now I’m quaint??” Jane scoffed, shaking her head.

"Dinner?" Sherlock asked, forcing down the smile.

"Starving." Jane grinned happily at him. Hearing him chuckle a little, she inquiringly looked at him.

“What’s so funny?”

“Moriarty.”

“What’s that?”

“I have no idea.” Sherlock laughed a little as the car rolled to a stop.

***

“So, you can tell by a door handle whether or not it’s actually good?”

“Yes.” Sherlock smiling proudly, opening the door for her.

“Or it could be you’ve eaten here before, and you’re just saying that.”

“I never ‘just say’ things.”

“I bet you do. On days where there’s nothing to do, I imagine you just sit, talking to that skull of yours, just to fill up the silence. That is ‘just saying’ things you know.”

“On the contrary, I never have mundane days. I am always busy.” Sherlock excused, not letting on that she had gotten it right.

Over a bowl of lo mein and orange chicken, the two had a lengthy conversation. At first it was merely about the flat share, policies, and rules.

“So you don’t sleep?”

“Not often, no.”

“How can you stand not sleeping?”

“I don’t sleep on cases. How could you sleep when there’s something to do? What if I slept and ended up missing part of the case?”

“Fair point. Keep in mind though I will need sleep, regardless if it is a case or not. And what about flat mates? How many of them have you had before?”

“A few here and there.”

“Why didn’t they stay?”

Giving her a patronizing _why-do-you-think_ smile, Sherlock focused on his lo mein.

“So you know, I think you are brilliant.” Jane sighed softly, picking at her chicken.

“You’ve mentioned.”

_I don’t know why I seem to be the only one who sees that._ She thought sadly.

“Your parents.” Looking up at Sherlock, she frowned.

“Yeah?”

“You just got back from the military, and you have no money. You have two parents, who could help you out. Yet you stay in the most expensive city, why?”

From Sherlock, she knew it wasn’t meant to be insulting. It was a question.

“Yeah…Mum and I don’t get on well. And my dad….well I haven’t seen him since I was fifteen. They divorced when I was nine.”

“Ah.”

“And London is a good place to be, that’s all. How long have you stayed in London?”

“Five years now.”

“And the two years before 221B, where were you? In the streets, or with your brother?”

“Between Mycroft and the streets, I think I’d have the streets. No, I stayed in one or two flats, a boarding house once, until I deemed it necessary to permanently move in somewhere.”

“I see. Yeah, I’ve always wanted to live in a flat.”

“Never have?”

“Dorm throughout University, and then I lived in Afghanistan in a barrack, so no.”

“The military, living in Afghanistan. Life there must have been interesting.” Sherlock felt strangely uncomfortable asking her, as if he was deliberately trying not to affront her.

“Well, it was never dull. I was supposed to be there five years and came home two years early because of my shoulder.” When Sherlock nodded at her, Jane felt encouraged to keep talking.

Unlike so many people, he seemed curious and even fascinated. Most of them would shy away from her life in the military.

“All three years I was there, we had about two hundred there off and on.”

“How many males?”

“Usually around a hundred at a time, depending on if anyone got deployed or killed.”

“And the women?” Looking out the dark window, Jane sighed.

“I left Afghanistan about two months ago. There used to be twenty of us. Last time I left, only five of the women were still alive.” Jane scrutinized her chicken as she spoke, refusing to look at Sherlock.

An awkward silence came back, and Sherlock tried to think of a new topic.

“Where did Mycroft talk to you?”

“Oh, you’re not going to believe me. Guess.”

“…His office, or some dark alley.”

“Nope. He took me to a warehouse.”

“That is so clichéd that it’s almost disturbing.”

“I know! Did he talk to all of your other flat mates?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh, I swear I’ll never gripe about my Mum again! I mean, you’re stuck with a brother who’d fit right in the 1984 book!”

“1984?”

“You know, Big Brother’s watching you, creepy warehouses, spying, and etcetera.”

***

By the time they returned to the flat, it was nearly two thirty. Sitting down, Jane felt the adrenaline seep.

“I’ll get my stuff from Mum’s and probably get moved in next week. We also need to discuss papers and such. Just not right now, I can barely think.”

“Do you want a cab?” Sherlock asked.

“No, I’ve about had it with cabbies today. I’ll just stay here tonight if you don’t mind. Is there a bed upstairs?” Jane pulled off her shoes, talking.

“Yes, but I am also conducting an experiment on the effect of phenotypes and genotypes of different blood types clashing along with-”

“Forget I asked.” Jane muttered, pulling out a blanket from the closet.

“Goodnight Jane.”

“Goodnight…Sherlock, wait.” Turning to face her, Jane smiled at him.

“It was kind good. All of it. I wouldn’t mind doing it again, if you don’t mind me tagging along for the ride.”

“I could always use a fairly competent brain.”

“That’s funny, few hours ago I was an idiot.”

“Fairly competent, I said. Goodnight.” He responded, closing the door.

Smiling, Jane pulled the quilt over herself as she snapped off the lamp. This really could be the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A-nd finished! Thanks all so much for reading. Also, in reference to Jane talking about the military, I do not have extensive knowledge on the military, so I do apologise if this was not an accurate portrayal. Thank you, and until next time!


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